


WHO THE FUCK HONKS AT A HOSPITAL

by richie-tozier-is-my-eboy (HiKidsDoYouLikeViolence), Sophscribbles



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: (but not eddie or richie dw), (tags to be added), Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Dr. K patching up Richie, Getting Together, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Sharing a Bed, Slice of Life, Slow Burn, Stuck in Derry, Teenagers, Terminal Illnesses, like S L O W B U R N, now with art by soph :), the one where it's an angsty bad teen drama
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:48:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 29,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25552315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HiKidsDoYouLikeViolence/pseuds/richie-tozier-is-my-eboy, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sophscribbles/pseuds/Sophscribbles
Summary: "Yeah I know." Richie’s smile was forced, but he felt like Eddie's was as well. It was nice, what they had, but everything has to come to an end. Richie shrugged, took some time to gather himself."I guess we'll always have Paris, huh?"Trapped in Derry by circumstances beyond his control, Eddie resolves to put on a brave face for his friends and pretend everything is okay one last time.Of course with Richie things never go to plan.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak & Sonia Kaspbrak, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Maggie Tozier & Richie Tozier & Wentworth Tozier, Sonia Kaspbrak & Richie Tozier, The Losers Club - Relationship
Comments: 42
Kudos: 89





	1. Chapter 1

"What about you, Rich?" inquired Ben, cross-legged on the barn floor. His cheeks were aflush with intoxication, eyes bright and genuine. "Have you got your acceptance packet yet?"

Richie, perched on some old crates that Eddie was 99% sure were about to give out under his weight at any moment and leave him with tetanus, grinned at the question. 

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, I have but I don’t know what’s inside, haven’t opened it yet because- because it’s not like,” Richie cut himself off with a light, nonsensical chuckle, balance unsteady from whatever Beverly was serving him. “I don’t know what’s inside. I’m just- look, I’m just happy I’m- _we’re_ \- getting far fucking away from Derry!”

Richie rose a glass of brown liquid with a cheer and the rest of the losers quickly joined in; Bill and Mike from the hay bales, Ben from the floor, Beverly from just outside, even Stan, who was leaned back against one of the barn's beams, raised his own beer with a smile.

Everyone but Eddie.

Eddie, who instead fought to keep his hard set smile, fiddled with his bottle of hooch. His legs were tucked together, an old blanket smoothed out underneath him so that his knees wouldn't get dirty.

The barn was abuzz with alcohol-fueled excitement for the future ahead and Eddie was struggling to keep up the facade that he was excited, too. Their cheers made him almost nauseous. He was beside himself with jealousy and guilt, a crushing loneliness clawing at him despite the warm smiles all around.

This was supposedly their last big meet up before they parted ways. Once he got through this, Eddie would be able to go back to hiding away in his house like he had been for the remainder of the summer, be allowed to mourn in private as his best friends left one by one for bigger and better things.

“Pretty sure none of us are planning on stayin’ in Derry,” Mike spoke up, stating the obvious.

Eddie eyed Mike and felt a spasm of panic.

Not Mike, too. Since when had Mike been planning on leaving?

Half the time, the only thing that had managed to even remotely calm Eddie down during his dread of being left behind by everyone ( _Richie, Richie, Richie_ ) was the comfort Mike would still be there, still at the farm, for another year at least.

It was selfish. Just four months ago, Eddie would have been able to join the conversation with ease, would have been just as elated and desperate to get over Derry's town lines as everybody else was.

He wondered if Mike felt as trapped as he did. Whether he was just being melodramatic.

"You can say that again, Mike," replied Bev from the door, blowing smoke up into the night’s sky. "Fuck this town."

Richie nodded from his position. _Fuck this town_. He agreed.

That sentiment had definitely been a huge factor in Richie’s decision to move so far away, to pick sunny California. He knew there was no way he could survive in Derry, in Maine, any longer than strictly necessary.

At the start of the summer Richie had been accepted to lots of places, and he supposed he should have been privileged to have such a free reign to pick from, but in actuality it had just caused more conflict in the Tozier household.

He had gotten into his dad’s first choice; some fancy school in New York, New York with a big clean campus his dad drove him to see several weeks ago. He wanted Richie to major in biological sciences as a pre-med so that he could then move on further to dentistry, just like his ol’ man, as he had put it. All because Richie had the grades for it.

He had gotten into his mom’s first choice as well, although her ideal for Richie was in Florida with a business major, something his dear mother was sure would secure him a lucrative future, simply because Richie was good at mental arithmetic.

The schools were both nice, and sure he wouldn’t mind studying something that could turn a profit, but Richie’s real interest was in Film and Broadcast, possibly a minor in Music or Theater, too. He wanted to be a radio host, a club DJ or maybe an actor, something to entertain others.

When Richie told them his decision, his parents didn’t straight out disagree with it, but they highly discouraged him, maintained the angle it was something he could do in his freetime, that it was only a hobby.

After briefly half-listening to their input, Richie being Richie ignored his parents wishes and accepted the offer at UCLA.

He supposed it didn’t matter in the end.

His parents were eager to have him move out either way, and although it wasn’t like Richie wanted to stick around, being unwanted still stung.

Going far away would leave Richie alone, but maybe that was a good thing. He could meet new people. Richie loved his friends, and hanging out with them always felt special, but there were secrets inside him too dark to share with even the Losers.

Brought back into the present, Richie adjusted his glasses and went to sip his drink. He leaned back only to remember at the last moment he didn't have any support to lean on.

It was more luck than judgement he didn't fall backwards.

He flashed a hand out behind himself, catching his balance and spilling a little beer over his lap and onto the floor. He wiped at his wet chin, not too bothered as Mike had reassured them before he didn't care about the mess. They were practically outside after all.

On the other side of the barn, Eddie's sullen demure broke as Richie almost fell backwards. His eyes widened in concern before Richie caught himself. Eddie's brows bushed together, mouth snapping open to scold his carelessness before Ben spoke up.

"I think it's great everyone’s going somewhere they’re happy with," he said, thoughtful. “I’m just getting a little worried over what to pick as my major. What if I pick wrong?”

Eddie huffed, but remained unseen, taking another drink. It was sweet, alcopops one of the only things Eddie could stomach the taste of.

"Yuh- you'll- you'll make the rah- right choice," Bill stuttered up. Despite being able to control his stutter better those days, he would let his concentration slip when he was relaxed, especially when he’d had a drink. "it's just college, Ben, it's neh- noh- not a big deal."

Billy shrugged, his glass back at his lips. He knew most of his friends had their whole future planned ahead, but he wasn’t so sure. All he knew was that he was going to major in English & Creative Writing. Not something his parents were particularly proud of but he had stories he wanted to tell.

He noticed Eddie had seemed awfully distant from the conversation. Everyone had had something to add about their future plans. In fact, thinking on it, Eddie had been pretty distant all summer, although he had been distant last summer, too, wrapped up working long shifts at his job in town.

Bill gave his friend a smile, guiding the focus of the conversation in his direction. “What about you, Eddie? You’re guh- going to New York, right?"

The attention of the group fell to Eddie and his stomach swooped.

Trust Bill to make sure everyone had their say.

Eddie glanced around at his friends, pointedly avoiding Richie and Stan; those two were the pair he was most worried could see through him.

He fiddled with the neck of his bottle, the unspoken truth churning hot and sticky in his stomach. Eddie had yet to tell any of them that he hadn't accepted NYU’s offer after all, the reasons why.

He couldn't. Not then. Not tonight. Not when everyone was so happy, so carefree and filled with excitement. Tomorrow. He always resolved to do it _tomorrow._

"I don't know," he answered lamely, shrugging up a shoulder. "...I’ve deferred my entry.”

It wasn't a lie, Eddie justified in his head, but he knew objectively it wasn’t the whole truth either.

The losers were all surprised by Eddie's answer, the news unexpected.

Stan frowned first, under the impression Eddie had been dead set on getting into NYU to do pre med. He distinctly remembered their conversation about it just after a study hall last spring, Stan having looked into NYU's accounting programs before he had settled on elsewhere.

It seemed Bev’s mind was on the same track, piping up from outside again, "You’re deferring? What happened to New York?"

"Yeah." Ben was troubled, too. "Wasn’t NYU your first choice when we had careers day?"

Eddie soured defensively. "And? Can a guy not change his mind? Fucking Christ."

Ben's expression dropped, and Eddie immediately felt guilty, looking away.

“I’m... sorry?” Bill was taken back by Eddie’s reply, quickly taking the responsibility away from Ben and Beverly. He had been the one to ask, but only because he had wanted everyone to be a part of the conversation.

Eddie felt even worse at Bill's apology, but he still didn't smooth things out, grumpy.

He should have just stayed home. He had known from the get-go the meetup was just going to be difficult for him. He had only come along in the first place since Richie had been the one to hit him up and invite him, the phone call almost washing away the bitterness of being ignored by him all summer.

Richie had perked up at Eddie’s tone, his snideness a stark contrast to the previously optimistic atmosphere.

Eddie had changed his mind about going to college? Richie was confused. Out of all of them, Richie had assumed Eddie was the one most set on leaving their shit hole of a town considering his mother’s toxic grip on him.

College was the perfect excuse for all of them to get away.

Eddie was an adamant guy, when he put his mind to something he stuck to it until he had done it. Why would he change his mind at the final hour? Maybe it wasn’t his decision. Maybe his mom had guilt tripped him into staying for another year-

“Wait, wait,” slurred Richie, leaning forward. “I thought you wanted to go to college?”

Eddie's head whirled around, snapping, "Did I say I didn't want to go to college? I said I’m deferring. There’s a lot to choose from. I just haven't decided yet.” He floundered. “I just need more time."

The lies left Eddie's lips before he could think better of it, tense.

Richie’s eyes widen slightly, uncomfortably glancing off to the others to avoid eye contact. His thumb tapped lightly against his glass. He wasn’t gonna apologise when he hadn’t done anything wrong, yet Richie still felt guilty.

“So, what are you choosing between then?” Richie’s voice was subdued as he gave his attention back to Eddie. He felt unsure but put on an unbothered tone, tapping faster.

“Yeah.” Beverly stubbed out her cigarette, joining the others inside. “Maybe we can help you choose or somethin’.”

The jovial spirit had been abruptly extinguished.

Without the usual tongue-in-cheek leviety running under the current of Eddie's abrasiveness, his words had all come out a lot harsher than he had intended them to.

Eddie caught Mike's eye trying to avoid everyone else’s, hating the gentle concern he saw there.

"I don't need any help. Just- just forget it, alright?" Eddie made an attempt at derailing the current line of conversation. He felt cornered. He was much too stubborn to apologise either, despite knowing he was in the wrong. He looked to Stan for help, pleading, "Stan, didn't your parents take you to see your campus last weekend?"

Stan, who had been mulling over Eddie's first response as the rest of the group had interrogated, uncrossed and recrossed his arms. "They did," he said, calm and even, holding Eddie's gaze, "but that's not important right now. Why are you lying to us?"

Eddie felt the blood rush from his face. "Lying? Wh- Stan- What are you talking about?"

"You told me last spring you could only afford to send off one application because your mom was refusing to help pay. That application was New York. How can you decide between schools if you only applied for one?" Stanley’s intention wasn’t to be antagonistic, almost a little hurt Eddie had felt like he needed to keep something so important from them, whatever it was.

Richie looked between Stan and Eddie, feeling dizzy as his eyes moved back and forth too rapidly. He put his cup on the floor, leaning his chin against the palm of his hand.

“Maybe he applied to NYU twice,” he thought out loud. It was something that only made sense to a drunken mind, but that way Eddie wasn’t lying, and it also meant that he had two of the same choice to choose from. Richie was a genius.

Mike nodded in agreement, not because he actually agreed, but just to give Richie the validation he was seeking.

Richie's blind defence of him made Eddie's chest swell, unable to even bark out a laugh at his ridiculous, immediate line of thought.

Eddie had just been tearing into him and yet he could always count on Richie to be in his corner. He'd always been like that, unwaveringly loyal and good, even when he was annoying everyone in the tristate area.

He didn't deserve a friend like Eddie. It was no wonder he was trying to cut him out.

“It’s okay if you didn’t get accepted.” Beverly offered a friendly smile as she walked further into the barn, going as close to Eddie as she knew she was allowed after a smoke. “I didn’t get into my first choice either,” she admitted, shrugging it off to imply it wasn’t a big deal.

Her first choice was in Paris, and in all honestly she hadn’t even bothered applying, because it was in _Paris_ , but it still would have been her first choice. She decided to leave that detail out, she was focused on supporting Eddie.

“You can tell us, Eddie. We just wanna make sure you’re okay.” She wasn’t looking to pressure, just comfort. It was the least she could do after everything Eddie had done for them over the years.

The rest of the boys nodded, Richie the most feverently.

As Beverly had spieled, the closer she had got, the softer her reassurance had become, the more Eddie's eyes stung. He took a breath, tried to re-ignite the spark of his temper to save himself the humiliation, but it was too late. His usual defence mechanism was failing.

The stress, the alcohol, the misery of being left behind as everyone went on to pursue their dreams. It was all too much.

Eddie’s expression crumpled and he hid his face with both hands, trying to stifle it, to get a hold of himself. He couldn't believe this was happening. He wasn't a crier. He didn't cry in public. The sound of a sob came involuntarily from his throat, Eddie shaking his head, embarrassed.

Everyone’s reaction was immediate to Eddie’s muted whimper.

Stanley was surprised, almost startled. He couldn’t tell if it was caused by his own accusations or Beverly’s assumptions, but he felt liable all the same.

Beverly was quick to drop Eddie’s five-feet-away-smokebreath rule, the first to jump into action. She crouched down and laid a hand on Eddie’s back.  She was just as in shock as the boys, but her response was instinctive. She didn’t speak or try to force his hands away, simply patting his back to show her support until Eddie was ready.

Once over the initial shock, Richie’s whole body reacted to Eddie’s weeping like an alarm bell. His chin flew up from his palm and he managed to knock over the cup at his feet, but he didn’t care, his entire focus on Eddie.“Hey, hey, hey, hey-”

He went to jump to his feet, but sitting on the edge of the crate with a heavy head and veins pumped up with adrenaline caused him to instead slip off the side. It wasn’t a long fall, and the slam of his ass against the mud sobered him up.

Much like his spilled drink, he didn’t care, and Richie soon joined Beverly by Eddie’s side, on his knees.

He was unsure what to do, so he placed a hand on top of Eddie's, wanting him to remove them so he could see his face, so that he would talk to them.

“Eddie? Eddie, are you okay? It’s okay. You can always reapply for next year. It doesn’t matter. Just reapply.” Unlike Beverly, Richie tried to comfort Eddie directly with words rather than silence, although it was difficult without context.

Eddie shook his head vigorously as Beverly and Richie crowded him, but lowered his hands when Richie applied pressure.

Eddie’s pale skin had already flushed a blotchy red, chocolate eyes glimmering wet.

Ben got up to join them, Mike and Bill, too, only Stan staying where he was for the moment.

"I can't," blubbered Eddie, shoulders shaking as he tried to snuff out the tears. He was unsuccessful and they began to stream. Eddie cried softly.

Despite all of his friends around him, Eddie’s mind tunnel visioned on Richie.

He wanted Richie to tell him everything was going to be okay like he did when they were kids, goof around until Eddie had forgotten what he was crying about in the first place.

He just wanted Richie.

Having everyone else around him, no matter their good intentions, quickly became suffocating.

"I'm going home," Eddie told them all once he had a better control over his emotions. He got to his feet.

“Eddie, no-”

“Wait-”

“Stay-”

“Eds-”

At the losers’ immediate protest, Eddie lost his temper again, "I'm said I'm going home! Just- just leave me alone, guys. Please. I wanna be alone."

Before anyone else could get a word in, Eddie beelined for the door.

Richie was stunned. He watched Eddie walk out, back on his feet, too. The others slowly joined him by his side.

It wasn’t until the air from Bill walking past hit him that Richie’s brain caught up to what had just happened.

“I’ll go aft-”

“Eddie!” Richie cut Bill off, forcing himself past the other and chasing after him.

Beverly grabbed Bill’s arm before he could follow the two out, shaking her head.

No one else tried to follow in Bill’s place, no one dared. They all knew from experience too many people would only stress Eddie out, make him worse.

It was in Richie’s hands now.

They all looked between one another, awkward and unsure. The party was over.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherever Eddie's runs, Richie follows.

It was cold as Richie ran outside, late, but luckily for him the alcohol in his body prevented him from feeling any of the outdoor breeze. His shoes were untied, head still heavy and he was having a little trouble focusing on his vision, but he was determined to catch up to Eddie, and did so in several quick strides.

“Hey, hey!” Richie circled the other and grabbed a hold of his shoulders.

Eddie almost stumbled and had to steady himself from falling by grabbing onto Richie, but was quick to release his hold once he had back his footing. His cheeks lit up under the dimness of the farm string lights at their sudden closeness. 

Richie took a short moment to catch his breath. He straightened and put some distance back between them, hands still on Eddie’s shoulders. He looked straight across his arms to make direct eye contact.

“What’s... what’s up?” He gave Eddie a crooked smile.

The embarrassment threw Eddie in a loop for a moment, stammering a "nothing," a rabbit caught in headlights. Richie's intervention, his worried smile, the instinctive relief that shot through Eddie; it all just made him feel worse.

He shrugged off Richie's broad, comforting hands, and Richie was quick to draw them back to his own sides.

Eddie's raven hair was mussed up at the front, thick brows drawn in tight. The bags under his eyes were sketched a little darker those days. He tugged at the sleeve of his oversized knitwear. Eddie sniffed and wiped at his drying cheeks with his fingers, averting his gaze.

Richie wasn't entirely sure what he was supposed to do. He had plenty of experience with Eddie’s panic attacks, sure, but the guttural, distressed sobs he had made back in the barn was an entirely new ball game.

Perhaps the answer was just to simply comfort him. 

_Yes,_ agreed Richie’s sloppy mind. _Just listen to him and help him out. Don't force him to talk about it like Bevy does._

But Eddie visibly gathered himself before Richie could get another word in. "I need my tissues," he said matter of factly. The eyes that snapped back to Richie held their usual self-assurance. "Let me into your car."

"Oh- okay!" agreed Richie. He was relieved he seemed some semblance of back to normal, eager to bend to Eddie’s whims.

Richie began searching through his pockets. He hadn't had any plans on driving home (usually the losers’ late night hang-outs would turn into sleepovers) but luckily for Eddie, Richie always made sure to keep his keys on his person lest he lose them like he had a couple years ago.

That had not been a fun conversation with Went the next day. 

He fumbled as he wrestled out the mess of his car keys, spare home key, original home key, garage key he never used _and_ the tiny key he had no clue where it led to but kept for its mysticism from his front pocket. They were all on the same keychain, as all respectable adults kept their keys, and Richie smiled as he waved them about to prove to Eddie he had them.

They headed over and Richie unlocked the car.

"So do you wanna, like, talk about it?" Richie was unsure if asking was the right thing to do, but blabbered anyway. 

Eddie didn't react straight away, hesitant. Eventually he shook his head. “No.”

Richie let out a sigh but didn’t push it. 

Eddie popped open the passenger side, his bag waiting for him on the leather seat, neatly clipped together. He shifted into sitting, brought the backpack onto his lap. His legs remained hung out of the car, leaving the door open, his toes barely touching the ground. 

Richie leant against the door, waiting for Eddie to clean himself up so that he could either walk him home or see him off on his way before he went back to the barn. Either way Eddie had made it pretty clear earlier he would be leaving, but Richie would prefer to leave with him if he was granted the opportunity.

Eddie worked methodically as he opened the clasps of his bag, finding his tissues and unfolding a sheet. He dabbed under his eyes and blew his nose, folding it up and tucking it away into a compartment to be thrown away later. 

Eddie's behavior was still worrying Richie, much like it was no doubt worrying everyone, but Eddie seemed to want to act like nothing had happened, so Richie would go along with it for then.

The hand sanitiser made an appearance next, Eddie squeezing a little dollop onto the palm of his hand. "You want some?" he offered whilst the bottle was out.

Richie was hit by the strong smell, chuckling slightly at how ridiculous he was. Of course Eddie had brought his hand sanitiser to the party in case of an emergency germ attack. Maybe it was weird, but the sterile, alcohol smell always reminded him of Eddie. 

Richie shook his head. "Nah, I'm good." 

It may have killed any bacteria present on his hands, but it always stung sharp against the little cuts or scrapes Richie tended to pick up.

Eddie huffed at Richie's rejection and clicked the little bottle back shut. "Fine. Just don't come crying to me when you get blastomycosis from the rotten wood you've been touching all night," he quipped. 

Richie chuckled. “Alright, alright.”

If he did end up with _blastomycosis_ (whatever the hell that was) Eddie would be the first one he would go to and there was nothing Eddie could do about it. He was going to miss this; Eddie’s endless knowledge about every molecular of bacteria wandering the Earth, his endless crusade to eradicate it.

Richie was gonna miss a bunch of stuff about Derry, mostly his friends and all their special quirks, but Eddie most of all.

Eddie’s concentration was still on the important task at hand. He rolled his palms together in circles, careful to get the gel in between his fingers, into the crevices of his cutiles. Finished, he slipped the bottle back into his bag, re-clipped it together.

"Hey,” Richie slurred before he could think better of it, “at least promise me when you wanna talk about it, you’ll talk about it with me." His brown eyes stayed on Eddie from his position, looming above the passenger seat.

The light from inside Richie's car lit up his face, the authenticity of his words. It made Eddie's heart ache. Richie was such a good friend. Eddie held his bag loosely, his lips pressed together in troubled thought. He sighed, the secret pressing heavy on him. 

Why was Richie so incapable of dropping anything? It brought Eddie both comfort and infuriation.

Eddie was met with the impulse to reach out and take Richie's hand when it captured his attention for a few, brief moments. The broadness of it, Richie’s thick fingers. Eddie quelled the strange desire, brows knitting together at himself. Eddie knew Richie's hands were dirty, had just said as much, not understanding why he craved the contact.

"There's nothing to talk about," said Eddie.

"What do you mean?" Richie asked, confused. 

If there was nothing to talk about, then what had all that been back at the barn? Richie pushed himself off the car door, rested an elbow on the roof and let his knees sag to get closer to Eddie.

Eddie pulled at his own fingers. He was beginning to feel a little nauseous from the mix of stress and alcohol. He tried and failed to hold Richie's gaze when he moved into his space. 

"I'm not going to college, obviously. Never even sent in my application." Although the words had Eddie's signature zing, his tone was tired. 

Richie was taken back by Eddie's confession, his surprise visible on his face as he grappled with the new information. "What?" was his immediate response, unprepared. "Why? Why not?" 

Richie tried to feign a casual air, but it was difficult. Barely six months ago, when Eddie would talk of NYU and getting to start over away from his mother, from their school, their town, he had always seemed so determined. His stubbornness was one of the qualities Richie had always admired about him, not understanding where all this was coming from.

Eddie gripped his bag a little closer. He found it hard to deny anything from Richie, even if Eddie bitched about it the whole time beforehand, even if it was a secret he'd been sworn to keep. 

Now that the first admission had left his lips, he found himself unable to stop as he wobbled, "My mom, Richie. She's sick. She's really sick."

"Yeah, no shit," Richie scoffed.

Eddie almost flinched at Richie’s flippant reaction.

Richie straightened back up and crossed his arms. Of course Mrs. K was forcing Eddie to stay, suddenly it all made sense. He knew Eddie was a mama’s boy, but this was ridiculous. He was almost disappointed in Eddie for not sticking to his guns, but then guessed he couldn’t be mad at him for being manipulated.

"I can't believe she's forcing you to stay," Richie added. "You’re right, that _is_ sick! Dude, you can't stay in Derry just because she wants you to!" 

Eddie was shocked into numbness. Richie had known? How did he know? Eddie gripped his bag tighter. Had he seen them coming in and out of the hospital for Ma's chemo? Had someone at the pharmacy told him?

Anger bubbled inside Eddie, smothering the disbelief and the hurt. "It's not her fault!" he exploded.

“What?” replied Richie dumbly.

Eddie jumped out of the car. "Fuck you! I can't believe you'd actually say that!" 

Richie was forced to back up, completely unprepared as he raised two hands

Eddie jabbed a finger in Richie's direction. "If you- if you knew, then what the fuck was all that?" He gestured behind them to Mike’s barn. "You just- Jesus, you really think I should just leave her? Fuck, Richie, I know- I know she's- she's not always made the right decisions, but you really think I should be so cruel? She needs me."

"Shit, Eddie, she's a grown woman!" Richie barely suppressed the fat joke, but didn’t step down, dropping his hands. “And you're a fucking grown guy. You don't need each other anymore!"

He knew Eddie loved his mom, but he hadn’t realised just how fucking brainwashed he was. Richie was hit with the terrifying thought of Eddie staying by his mother’s side well into his forties, that by the time she finally dropped dead, Eddie would just end up staying in Derry anyways, stuck there forever.

He shook his head. If Sonia wasn’t going to push Eddie out the nest, then Richie would drag him out, kicking and screaming.

"It's not cruel to leave her! It's necessary! You can't just- I'm-" Richie stumbled over his words. "I thought you would be the first one out of Derry, really, Eds, you can't stay here- not because of her. So what? You're just gonna stay here until she drops dead and _then_ you can live your life? How fucking toxic is that- how- how fucking stupid are you?!" 

Eddie was flabbergasted.

He hadn't thought Richie was capable of saying such horrible things, having had the other up on a pedestal for the entirety of their lives, since the day he'd waddled up to Richie during daycare in his pull ups, requesting to join him in the sandpit. 

He recoiled and his eyes flooded again without his permission, a broken faucet. _Until she drops dead. Until she drops dead. Until she drops dead._

"Yeah? Well, I'd rather be fucking stupid than a heartless monster like _you_!" screamed back Eddie.

Richie stuttered to a stop when he saw Eddie’s tears start to roll again, heart thumping in his throat.

The shouting match had garnered the attention of the rest of the losers, although it was hard for them to make out exactly what either of them were yelling about as they all peeked out from the barn’s double doors. 

Eddie caught sight of everyone’s stares. He flushed hot and turned on his heel to stomp away. 

He shouldn’t have told Richie. He should have just stayed at home. Ma had been fretting about Eddie going out anyway. This was all just one big mistake.

“Eddie-”

"Leave me the fuck alone!" he screeched at Richie when he made an attempt at following him. "Just go away!"

Richie was undeterred. He kept following Eddie. Something was wrong. He felt like he was missing something important. 

"Eddie! Eddie, for fuck’s sake!" 

He tried to grab hold of Eddie’s arm but Eddie jerked out of Richie’s grasp violently, defiant.

"Eddie, come on.”

They were halfway off the property when Eddie sped up. Richie went to match his pace and nearly tripped up over his untied laces.

“Eddie!” Richie shouted once more when he’d steadied himself.

He jogged to catch up and Eddie ignored him.

“Talk to me!” pleaded Richie. He was becoming desperate as he started to realise he might be in the wrong somehow. “What’s going on?”

Eddie whipped around. "What's going on?" he repeated, seething. " _What's going on?_ My mom's sick, jackass, and you just told me I should leave her to it! How could you say that? Of course I'm gonna stay until she dies, I'm not gonna let her die alone in- in- in some fucking ward." Eddie's hands flailed all over the place as he spoke, his breathing hard and fast.

Richie was lost for words as he was finally given context. He was pale, but he felt himself fading even paler once he understood the reality of what was happening.

Mrs. K was sick. Not sick, but _sick_ sick. Actually, physically sick. She was _dying_ and Eddie was staying behind to care for her.

Holy shit. Fuck. Shit. _Shit!_

Richie had just fucked up big time, his trash mouth speechless.

Eddie pulled his backpack over his shoulders and fisted his wet cheeks. "I'm going home," he told him, drained. “Go back to the party, Richie.”

Richie stared after him.

Eddie didn’t look back, just marched off down the dirt path.

A good hundred feet passed between them before Richie’s brain stopped short-circuiting, barely able to make out Eddie’s figure ahead in the darkness anymore. 

“Wait, Eddie!” He took a step forward, almost stumbling over his own feet again before he broke out into a sprint. "Wait! Shit! I'm sorry!" 

Eddie didn’t reply, maintaining his speed.

Richie had almost reached him when his untied shoes made themselves known for a third time, sticking under Richie's feet. 

"Eddie! Wait up, I'm- _Holy fuck_!" 

He wasn’t so lucky that time and Richie fell hard.

Eddie stopped in his tracks at the sound of the impact. 

His stubborn cold shoulder dissipated in an instant, whirling around. 

“Richie?!” he called out, anxious.

Richie groaned, winded. He’d messed up and he could see it clearly now despite his glasses laying in the dirt beside him. He tried to reply, but couldn’t for the moment, pulling himself up off his stomach.

"Richie!" called out Eddie again. "Richie, are you okay?" 

It was Eddie’s turn to speed up. He was immediately fearful Richie had hurt himself badly from the lack of a response. Mike’s farm had all sorts of dangerous things lying about.

“I’m okay,” wheezed Richie once Eddie reached him.

“Oh, thank God,” replied Eddie, flooded with relief. He crouched down and helped Richie’s gangly frame up into sitting. He smoothed his hands over Richie's arms, it hard to get a proper look at him in the moonlight.

“My glasses,” complained Richie, patting around.

Eddie joined his search and found them successfully. “Here,” he said as he eased them back onto Richie’s nose.

Richie straightened them into place. “Thanks.”

"Sit still,” Eddie instructed. His mother hen instincts had overridden the entire situation as he removed his bag, rattled around inside, and produced a small flashlight. He clicked it on, careful not to shine it in Richie's face as he assessed the situation.

"Look at your knees!” Eddie cried. “They're filthy- _Richie._ Are you kidding me?! How old are you?" It seemed Eddie had finally seen Richie's unlaced shoes. 

Richie was quiet as Eddie fussed over him.

The torch was shoved into Richie's hand and he took it.

"Hold it up.” Eddie flinched as Richie guided the bright light directly into his retinas. “Ah! No! Down! Down! Are you trying to blind me? Jesus fucking Christ, you are unbelievable. Eighteen years old-and you still can't tie your own shoelaces." 

"Sorry," Richie quickly threw out, keeping his gaze locked on Eddie. 

He felt like the kid Eddie accused him of being, complete with a mother scolding him for running with untied shoes. He tried to tell himself that that was where the unsettled guilt inside him came from, but Richie knew better.

Eddie took the first pair of laces in his hands, gagging at their grossness thanks to them having been trailed along the floor all day. "Oh, that's disgusting." Eddie began to lace them together despite his displeasure. "You're gonna break your wrist pulling this shit, you know. Or worse."

Richie wanted to laugh when Eddie started tying his shoes like he wasn't able to do it himself. 

It was a rather anticlimactic end to their situation. 

He could tell Eddie was still mad with him, but Richie was warmed that his compulsion to make sure Richie was alright had overruled it.

"I'm sorry," he repeated, this time with a softer tone. Richie wasn’t apologising for his dirty knees or for his clumsy fall, but rather for acting like the heartless monster Eddie had accused him of being earlier.

Eddie was silent as Richie attempted to placate him, working on Richie's second shoe. 

"I'm sorry. I didn't know, Eddie. I thought you meant- I thought you meant something else," Richie added on when he got no reply, watching Eddie as he laced his sneakers. He felt like a jackass.

Eddie was unsure what to reply so he just tightened the bow he’d been working on neatly. It was difficult to fully compute Richie's apology, too emotionally and physically drained to realise that they'd both just fallen victim to a big misunderstanding. 

“Eddie-”

"Richie, _please._ I don't wanna talk about this anymore." 

Richie quietened obediently and Eddie finished tying his shoes.

Done, Eddie wiped his hands on the other's jeans and took back his torch. 

Richie wasn’t sure if laughing was allowed, not with the grueling tension between them, but was unable to contain a snicker when Eddie used his pants as a towel.

Eddie gave him an unimpressed look before he went about fretting over Richie’s muddy glasses and scraped hands. He used the light to get a better look at them, blackened with mud and embedded with gravel.

Richie flexed his hands under the torch light, feeling the tiny cuts sting ast they encountered the pressure. He didn’t let it bother him, acting as if it were nothing as he pushed himself up from the ground.

Eddie followed suit and let out a long sigh.

Richie waited expectantly like a kicked puppy. 

"I'm still mad at you," informed Eddie, hands going to his hips.

“I know,” said Richie, clawing to be forgiven. Eddie had every right to be mad, Richie didn’t even try to argue it. “But, listen, I really didn’t know, okay? I wouldn’t- I would have never have said that shit if I knew.” 

Eddie shot Richie a wary look of warning when he continued, predictably, to run his mouth.

Richie shut up and they stared at one another a few, long moments.

“ _But_ ,” tacked on Eddie once he was sure he had silence. “I still want you to come back to mine so I can disinfect your hands.”

Although Richie thought disinfecting anything was over the top after such a tiny fall, he was still quick to accept Eddie’s invite with an eager “sure.”

Eddie nodded and the rubbing alcohol made its second appearance of the evening. Eddie used it to clean his own hands, everything going back into his bag (often branded as _Eddie's Mom Bag_ by the losers) again when he was finished. 

“Thanks,” continued Richie once they were ready to go, for both the invitation and for always looking after him, because clearly Richie wasn’t able to do it himself. He had missed him terribly despite the deliberate distance he had tried to put between them for Eddie’s own good.

"You don't have to thank me, idiot," scolded Eddie gently, just relieved Richie was okay. “Let’s go.”

They left Mike’s farm together.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys patch one another up.

It was almost as if the screaming match between them had never happened as they began the long trek back into town.

Richie supposed the others would probably wonder where they went, especially since he had left his car behind, but that was to be all figured out later. Richie didn’t care then, too focused on trying to sober himself up for Eddie’s sake.

Their raw emotions had been successfully suppressed for the time being. The both of them were skilled veterans at it.

"Feels like forever since we hung out, just the two of us," Eddie commented tiredly. He felt calmer thanks to having a purpose to concentrate on rather than his own fragile state of mind; get home, get Richie’s wounds treated.

Richie nodded. He didn’t like admitting it, but partly that had been by design, Richie’s way of getting himself used to Eddie’s absence. That’s probably how he missed Eddie’s mom becoming ill. “Yeah, everyone's been planning for college-” he cut himself off mid-sentence, realised that was probably not the best follow up with how sensitive Eddie was. “We’ve- I’ve been busy. And it’s been shit.” 

When Eddie didn’t reply, Richie gave a nervous laugh and ran his hand through his hair.

His mind searched backwards for easier times to talk about instead. He found the memory of him riding his bike to Eddie’s house first thing every morning, every summer. Most of the time they would meet up with the others, like when Bill had come up with some adventure for them to occupy themselves with, but sometimes not, like that time Richie found a dead deer and wanted Eddie to be the first to see. 

It wasn’t until the later years of high school that everyone’s free time started to get tighter. There were part time jobs to go to, summer school to study at and all the other responsibilities kids tended to accumulate as they got older.

“Hey, remember when we were kids and during the summer we would hang out, like, every day?” 

Eddie raised a brow at Richie’s sudden change of subject. "Yeah." 

He smiled briefly with memories of his own.

He used to wait by his bedroom window in the mornings for Richie to come biking into his drive with his bed hair and big glasses, fighting against the impulse to race down to meet him when he did, forcing himself to stay until he knocked at his door. He remembered Richie coaxing Eddie to climb trees and gorge on candy, their wrestling matches on the floor of Richie's bedroom as they both tried to sabotage one another’s victory on _Dr Mario_ and _Mario Bros_ on Richie's NES, nine-year-old Richie sticking green beans up his nose on one of the rare occasions Sonia allowed him to stay for dinner.

"I’ve missed you," said Eddie.

It was Richie’s turn to glance Eddie’s way in surprise, having not expected something so sentimental to come out of him.

Eddie flushed as he realised he had just said that aloud. He tried to save himself further embarrassment by continuing, "I've missed all you guys. I feel like I’ve barely seen anyone since I started a Pierce’s."

Richie grinned. Despite Eddie’s expansion, his first words still stuck, made him feel all warm and happy. He’d missed Eddie, too, more than he would ever admit. He had barely even listened to the second half in his glee.

Eddie had missed _him._

Richie threw an arm around his shoulder in a typical-bro side hug. "I know you have," he joked. 

Eddie thanked whatever higher power that it was too dark for Richie to see his red cheeks, half stumbling upon the taller’s impact against him. He rolled his eyes but was relieved Richie had transformed his misstep into a joke, although a small, whispering part of himself was confusingly disappointed. 

Richie continued to use Eddie’s shoulders as support for his tipsy body. "I fucking hate Pierce's, only way we could ever hang out was if I bought milk or toilet paper. I bought so much toilet paper last summer, it was crazy!"

(Mr. Pierce, the owner of Pierce’s, Derry’s oldest convenience store, had noticed pretty quickly a teenage boy often visiting but never buying anything (a red flag for any store) and had to come to an agreement with Richie that he had to buy something every visit, like any other customer, if he was going to spend half an hour distracting his cashier.)

Eddie snorted at Richie’s anecdote. "Yeah, _last_ summer," he pointed out, trying not to sound too whiny. “This summer you barely came in at all. I ended up seeing your mom more than I saw you."

"Dude, I'm all out of money!" Richie defended. His summer’s allowance had been blown on cigarettes, weed and games before they’d even hit August.

Richie leaned his body further into Eddie’s space, squeezing him closer. The stench of alcohol hit Eddie first, but it was the scent underneath Eddie found himself inexplicably drawn to; that smell of muskiness, of Richie's pillows and sheets, of his dumb print shirts, of _Richie_. 

Eddie’s mind instinctively soaked it all in, having to remind himself he was supposed to be mad at him.

“That never stopped you before,” snapped Eddie. He was anxious to allow the contact to linger any further, and continued, "now get off me, you drunk giraffe!" as if he weren't too far off Richie on the drunkenness scale himself, giving Richie a sharp elbow.

“Alright, alright.” Richie raised his arms in defense, immediately backing off and having to catch himself from stumbling over. He liked having Eddie close but respected he’d stepped over the line. 

Richie was a touchy person, and he blamed his own actions on that, but Richie knew himself better. He knew it was different with Eddie, always had been, only felt the odd, comforting warmth with Eddie, nobody else, whenever he pulled them close in the exact same way. Richie sometimes ended up still feeling guilty about it, but he'd gotten used to the feeling over the years.

" _And,_ like I told you, I've been busy…”

Eddie sighed but didn’t interrupt, begrudgingly humouring Richie's excuses, hands loosely taking up the straps of his backpack.

"...but I've missed you, too." 

A sudden flurry filled Eddie's stomach with butterflies in response, which embarrassed him, caught off-guard by it and not knowing what to say when Richie didn’t follow his statement up with anything else like Eddie had.

They had reached the town square, Eddie realised, the time having flown by, as it so often did in Richie’s company. The remainder of the way was lit up by street lamps, Derry’s streets still and quiet, the pair completely alone.

It had been a good ten seconds and Eddie still didn’t know what to say, their feet trudging awkwardly against the concrete.

If Eddie joked about it, and Richie was being sincere, he'd feel terrible. If he was sincere, and Richie was joking, he'd be humiliated.

Richie, on the other hand, was beginning to regret his drunken admission. The silence was dreaded, he hated it, always the one to keep the conversation going, keep the atmosphere light.

He looked about the empty space, about to pick something else to talk about when he was beat to it at the last second,

"What about when you go to college?” Eddie’s voice sounded small, unlike him. “Will you... will you miss me then?"

Would Richie miss him? Yes, undoubtedly. But eventually? Hopefully not. 

Richie didn't answer that, of course, he didn't want Eddie to know about the hurting part of himself that just wanted to forget all these feelings and let Eddie go. After being hung up on his best friend so long, he’d come to the conclusion that, as painful as it was, the cure was getting the source of the hurt as far away from Richie as possible.

"Between partying, studying and instant noodles? Yeah, maybe I'll make some time to miss you," he answered instead, playful and good-natured. "So you better not forget about me, either, Eds."

Eddie snorted, his fleeting, external vulnerability gone. Richie’s words held a special type of reassurance weaved through them that comforted, Eddie fluent enough in Richie’s mannerisms to know that this was his misguided attempt at expressing affection.

"Oh don't worry, I won't," he bit back, continuing in a deadpan, "As much as I wish I could."

Richie laughed and flashed a grin, to which Eddie grinned back. 

All was forgiven, even if Eddie didn't know it yet. 

They chatted more casually now that the weight between them had been lifted a little, reaching Eddie's two-story home ten or so minutes later. 

"You gotta be really quiet," said Eddie as he slotted his key into the door, "I mean it, Richie. Ma sleeps downstairs now." 

Richie was obedient. “Okay.”

Normally he would act up at being told what to do, but this was different. He was still unsure just how bad the situation was, but by going off Eddie’s grief-stricken mortification earlier, it was pretty clear Richie needed to respect the request.

He had snuck into the house plenty of times, both with and without Eddie, but he was used to Mrs. K waiting up for Eddie to come home. The fact that she wasn’t worried him.

Eddie let them both inside. 

The hall looked the same as it always had, shoes neatly filed into their racks, side table still tucked beneath the polished mirror, the same rug rolled out over the worn wooden floors. Richie took off his shoes to sneak better and Eddie cracked an amused, appreciative smile at the sight.

Eddie left him to it and crept forward towards the living room door so he could peak inside. His mother's form rose and fell inside, asleep. Thank God.

Sometimes, as horrible as it was to admit, Eddie prefered how much calmer his home life had become in these small ways. Just eight months earlier, Sonia would have been awake and waiting for him in her chair, rollers in her hair as she prattled about how _late_ it was, how Eddie knew she couldn't sleep without knowing he was safe in bed, and _why do you keep doing this to your poor mother?_

Eddie glanced back to Richie and silently pointed to the stairs.

Richie nodded. He knew the house like the back of his hand and could navigate it by himself no problem.

Eddie nodded back through the darkness and continued further down the hall towards the kitchen, leaving Richie alone to ascend the stairwell alone.

Eddie fetched the first aid kit from its cupboard and followed after Richie upstairs. He caught up fast to where he was stood on the landing, reached out a hand to touch his back. "The bathroom," he whispered once he had his attention.

Ah, yes. The bathroom. Richie knew that. He turned from the direction he’d been going (Eddie’s bedroom) to the washroom instead.

Eddie was filled with appreciation as his friend stayed completely silent, which he knew was difficult for Richie. He pulled the light cord and they both squeezed inside, the bulb above them illuminating the room a warm yellow.

Richie flinched as the light hit him, startled at the lack of distance between them.

It was a snug space, and Eddie had not anticipated the intimacy of how close they were going to be to one another either.

He really had kept shooting up during their time apart, and out, the broadness of his shoulders extra distracting from so close up. Eddie felt a pang of what he thought was jealousy as he was met with the impulse to reach out and touch them. He stamped out the thought, and in his scramble not to focus on them, his gaze ended up falling directly into Richie’s instead.

Richie swallowed as those fucking deer eyes stared right into him, the way Eddie’s neck was craned back making him feel oafish.

This was nothing weird. Just two friends stood alone together in a really small space meant for one. Richie angled himself away in an attempt not to be so close to the smaller. For Eddie's comfort of course. Richie definitely wasn't bothered about it, not at all, Eddie just deserved his space.

They broke eye contact. Eddie turned around, carefully clicked the door shut. "Sit,” he said, broke the loaded silence, his speech level back to normal. He was less worried about waking his mom since there were two doors and a flight of stairs then separating them.

Richie sat down the moment he was ordered to, onto the closed seat of the toilet. 

Skirting around him to reach the sink adjacent, Eddie’s legs brushed against Richie's, able to feel the scratch of his thick leg hair. He set the first aid kit down beside the bathtub.

"Thank you, nurse," Richie blurted out a tease, smirking slightly. He knew what he said was a little illogical, usually something a doctor would say, whilst Richie was undoubtedly the patient here, not to mention Eddie had yet to do anything.

"Nurse?" replied Eddie incredulously, shifting into a crouch and opening the cupboard under the sink. "I thought I was _Doctor K_?"

Richie snorted and suddenly imagined them as characters in that weird-ass doctor show his mom always watched on tape in black and white. Richie would be _Jane Hancock,_ just awoken from his coma, and Eddie would be _Dr. Ben Casey,_ stood over Richie’s bedside, checking his vitals.

"Yeah? For Doctor _Kook_ or something?" he said. Yikes, that was terrible, but it was the best thing Richie could come up with on the spot. 

"If anyone's a kook, it's you, dickhead," snapped back Eddie without missing a beat.

Richie sniggered.

Eddie removed a flannel from inside the cupboard. He reached for the first aid box, got out what they needed. He clicked it back shut, and once everything was laid out neatly on top its lid, he eased back up onto his feet using Richie's knee to aid his ascent. 

The touch lasted barely a second, but it made Richie tense.

It wasn’t like he had never been touched by Eddie before, they had touched plenty of times; the photobooth at the arcade, sharing the hammock at the hangout, Richie’s arm slung around Eddie before he could stop himself. It all came with the same sick feeling he’d suffered with since he was a kid, and it was getting too exhausting for Richie to cope with.

Even the simple thought of it would keep Richie awake at night. It was wrong and he knew it. It was exactly why he needed to get away from these feelings. Away from Derry. Away from... Eddie.

Richie realised he was imposing. His hands were fine, Eddie didn't really have to take care of him. This was just Richie selfishly indulging in his lovelorn a little bit longer, against his better judgment.

Eddie's attention was on the sink as he began to scrub his hands, but he could sense something was off. Richie's presence in his home had always been familiar, and still was, but there was a taste of something foreign, something different between them. Eddie couldn't place his finger on it, and just its existence made him too anxious to delve after the answers, especially after Richie had been ignoring him all summer.

He lathered the suds up half his forearm to be thorough, and once he had rinsed away the soap, he briefly inspected his short, shaped nails before he used the hand towel.

Eddie instructed Richie to swivel sideways and put his hands over the sink, which he did quickly and without complaint. Richie braced himself for the blast of the faucet over the little cuts and blisters maring his palms, but it never came. 

Instead, Eddie soaked the flannel with warm water, took one of his hands, and Richie watched as Eddie pressed the soaked cloth against his palm, surprised when it didn't hurt. For some reason he had expected it to. The hurt hero always flinched in the movies whilst being taken care of by his love interest, not that Richie was any hero, he fell over his own shoelaces after all. 

He guessed he could say he _fell_ for him. Richie smirked at his own joke, distracted.

Eddie was too focused softening up the mud to catch Richie’s expression. He folded the cloth in half and began to slowly dab, trying his best to be gentle, and was pleased when the dirt came away from Richie's hand without resistance.

He didn't trust Richie to do it himself. He would do a sloppy job and just end up smearing bacteria deeper into his open wounds. Eddie just didn't want them to get infected. That's what he told himself as he pretended like it didn't have anything to do with the skin-to-skin contact, liking the sensation of his fingertips brushing Richie's.

Meanwhile, Richie used Eddie's concentration to his advantage and watched his face, which held a rather cute expression according to him, admiring the little blotches of freckles over his nose. "Couldn't you just," Richie opened another conversation, "have used that hand booze you have in your purse?" 

When Eddie glanced at him, Richie raised playful brows.

"First of all,” said Eddie, “'hand booze’ is not a thing, secondly, I don't own a purse, and thirdly, how could you possibly think that’s a good idea? 

“I’m assuming what you’re really asking me is _why couldn’t I have just used hand sanitiser?_ which is possibly one of the dumbest questions I have ever heard in my life. What do you think would have happened to all the mud? That it would have magically evaporated? Of course not, idiot!

“It would have gotten embedded in all these cuts, and do you know what happens when you get foreign bodies stuck in a wound, Richie? Bad things. It's a bitch to get out, obviously, because your body heals over it, and if it gets infected - _when_ it gets infected - you would have had to have all the pus drained out, and then you would have ended up on a course of antibiotics, and like you could go two weeks without drinking, so you'd just end up with a _worse_ infection..." 

Eddie had managed to wring the flannel out, resoak it _and_ use the opposite side to clean up Richie's second hand in the time it took to finish his monologue.

Richie nodded along like he cared about the risks of infection from _foreign bodies_ (heh) humouring Eddie like he always did, little smile pulling at his lips.

Despite making fun of them, Eddie's rants were one of the best parts about Eddie. Richie could listen to him for hours as he listed the dangers of spoiled milk or how public bathrooms were a public safety hazard. Maybe Richie shouldn’t be so indulgent of Eddie’s paranoia, but he loved how passionate and riled up he got, never failing to hold his attention (a feat in of itself) even if half the stuff Eddie warned Richie of, he not only did, but would definitely keep doing.

If it was up to Richie he probably wouldn't have done much about the cuts at all. Maybe he would have washed his hands, but that would have only been if he had remembered and could be bothered to do it, considering it was late at night and he was drunk.

"Uh-huh," said Richie once he could get a word in. "So what you're saying is you're saving my life here?"

Eddie looked up from his work and gave a squint. He saw Richie’s smirk had transformed into a bright, genuine smile and the side of Eddie’s mouth automatically tugged up in response, betraying his amusement. Richie’s smile, his true, honest smile, was one of Eddie's favourite things. Eddie always felt so special when he was granted it, the other, cockier grin Richie so often sprouted never crinkling his eyes in the same way, never hitting the mark quite right. "Basically," he agreed, re-schooling his expression.

Richie snorted. 

Eddie went back to his hands. He had some self-awareness that he was deliberately taking his time, ignored the niggle in the back of his mind that knew he was stretching out the task because he was enjoying their closeness. It was easier to tell himself that he was solely making sure he did a thorough and proper job. 

The damaged skin pink and clean, Eddie bobbed down to collect his pair of tweezers and Richie frowned in concern at their appearance. They reminded him more of a sci-fi movie than a hospital drama, unsure what Eddie would need them for but trusting him enough not to comment or pull away.

He watched as Eddie began to meticulously pry out any remaining clumps of mud from inside the tiny gashes. Huh. Richie would have never thought to look for anything stuck inside them to begin with. Good thing Eddie was the doctor and not him.

"God, how did you even manage this?" scolded Eddie lightly. "What adult human doesn't tie their shoelaces?"

"Not my fault you ran away," Richie answered without thinking.

Eddie straightened up and glared at him, tweezers stilling. They had put that fight behind them and here Richie was dragging it back up again. 

He thought about Richie standing over him outside Mike’s barn, scoffing and flippant, telling Eddie about how he should be living his own life whilst he deliberately distanced himself further and further away from being a part of it

Did he really think Eddie hadn't noticed? That it didn't hurt knowing that Richie obviously didn’t want to be his best friend anymore? That Eddie had already come to terms with it?

Eddie took on a hard edge. "Yeah? Well, maybe don't ask me if I'm really gonna stay in Derry until my mom _drops dead_ whilst she's dying of cancer."

"It's cancer?" blurted Richie. Maybe it was stupid to bring it back up whilst Eddie had a tweezer inches from his open wounds, but when Eddie threw out the word _cancer_ Richie was caught off guard.

“Yeah, asshole.” Eddie looked away and went back to his plucking, just as gentle as he removed the last little speck of dirt. He expanded, “Stomach cancer. Stage four.”

Eddie rinsed the tweezers under the tap and set them aside to be boiled sterile tomorrow morning. He grabbed the disinfectant and cotton wool.

"Eddie, you know- you gotta know I didn't know that.”

Eddie’s focus was on the bottle of disinfectant he was shaking. "You said you knew she was sick," he pointed out.

Looked like they were having the conversation after all. 

Having it out in the open actually made Eddie feel a rush of relief he hadn't been expecting, although it made sense considering how many months it had been such a guarded secret, weighing heavy and uncomfortable. 

Cancer was a taboo subject after all, and the shame that radiated from Sonia, once so filled with enormous pride and self-assurance, was enough to make Eddie ache. 

Richie was the first person Eddie had told, even his aunts were still yet to find out despite how Eddie begged his ma to let him ring them to ask for their aid, financial or otherwise. Unfortunately, she had sworn Eddie to secrecy the moment she had first received her diagnosis.

It was obvious to Richie by then that he had made an ass of himself, but Richie had just been so _mad,_ believing Eddie was being forced into staying by some twisted sense of obligation. But it was never Richie’s business in the first place. If Eddie wanted to stay, because of his mother or not, Richie shouldn't, _didn't_ have a say in it. He had just wanted Eddie to be happy. All he ever wanted was for Eddie to be happy.

"Yeah, but I thought you meant-" Richie cut himself off. He felt ashamed to even say it; sick as in _crazy,_ not sick as in _sick_. "I didn't know. Not about that. I was just talking about her being… you know..." He looked off into the bathtub.

"Oh,” replied Eddie, feeling foolish. It made complete sense Richie wouldn't have known. Eddie had assumed as much before their misunderstanding. 

Guilt churned at his actions; snapping at Ben, his lies, humiliating himself as he broke down into floods of tears, screaming at Richie when he'd just defended him, when he was oblivious to what was happening, when he had just been trying to help Eddie follow his dreams.

Richie had always been there making Eddie brave. He had been lost without him, Richie remaining a constant in his mind, a running commentary of _what would Richie do?_ _What would Richie say?_ _How would Richie make this better?_ just to get Eddie through the dark days.

Not having him in his life any more was something Eddie had never even considered until recently. Eddie had always assumed for some childish reason that Richie was going to remain a large part of it forever.

It was a selfish assumption and Eddie felt stupid for keeping himself under the illusion of it for so long. The losers were all growing up. People didn't stay in contact with their childhood friends. Everyone knew that. That was life.

"...When you said you knew, I thought you'd seen us at the hospital or something," he admitted.

“Eddie-” 

"I didn't stop and think and I - Look - it's just been really hard and I just- I got mad. _Again._ " Eddie wiped firmly at his eyes with a wrist. 

“Eds-”

"And it's not fair, and I know I can’t do anything about it, but I'm just so angry all the time. I want to fix it but I can't. Everyone's leaving and I ruined the one time, the one time we were supposed to be having fun together. Everyone else might not be going far, but you are. You're going to _California_ \- you're going to the other side of the country - and I'm never gonna see you again-”

Richie sighed in discontentment at seeing Eddie so distressed.

“-and instead of us spending time together you're- you're ignoring me. And when you're not, I just treat you bad." Eddie sniffled.

"Eddie, listen, it's not-" Richie tried again.

"Do you even like me anymore?” Eddie’s voice was cracking. “Fuck. This is so fucking stupid. I don’t even know why I’m crying."

Cut palms disregarded, Richie took Eddie’s wrist. The space was so confined that he didn’t have to reach far, desperate to provide comfort but fearful of being inappropriate. "But I do," he said, initially quiet before he ramped back up, “Like, duh! Of course!”

Eddie pressed his lips together. His eyes stayed glued to the big hand clasping him.

"Like, of course I like you! Eddie, you-" Richie cut himself off abruptly. He didn't have a plan of how to finish that and wasn’t about to run the risk of yammering something stupid and incriminate himself.

Eddie shook his head slightly and Richie gave a nervous chuckle.

He really had no idea how much Richie liked him, pined for him. Richie felt guilty Eddie doubted it. It _was_ stupid. It was stupid because he liked Eddie so much that he had to get out of town before he ruined it. Richie re-started with a lighter tone, "I mean, you can have one of them, Eds, you're right about this being stupid, but I’m not ignoring you and you’ve never treated me bad. You’re my best friend, man.”

Eddie shook his head again, more vehemently that time. If Richie was his best friend, then why had he been so distant? There was only one logical explanation to Richie’s recent behaviour and Eddie tried his very best to hold back the tears of hurt and frustration as he was confronted with it.

"And back at Mike’s, you didn’t ruin anything." That was kind of a lie, but Richie said it anyway, squeezed Eddie’s arm.

“I did,” argued Eddie huskily, smudging away another rogue tear with his free hand.

“But!” Richie scrambled. “But even if you did, it’s not your fault. It's okay.”

"It's not okay," Eddie replied stiffly and pulled away his wrist.

Richie let go, unable to disagree when he had the knowledge Eddie was going through so much shit. “...Yeah. I know.”

Eddie looked away. He hovered a few moments before he shifted to take a seat on the edge of his pink bathtub. It was a little uncomfortable but he needed to sit down, the adrenaline of the alcohol finally exiting his bloodstream, leaving him tired.

Richie watched him silently, but it wasn’t long until he moved to sit beside him. He went to take Eddie’s hand but hesitated, settling his hand on Eddie’s shoulder instead in a more platonic touch. Richie felt dumb and guilty. “I’m sorry,” he said, “that you’re having to, you know, go through… all this.” 

Eddie nodded along, watching his lap, the kind touch meaning more to Eddie than he would ever feel comfortable admitting.

“...It must, like, suck.”

The words would have had Eddie smiling in any other situation, Richie's emotional constipation utterly and hopelessly endearing. Richie was always so desperate to help in times of distress yet so useless as to know what to say, especially when it couldn't be spun into a joke, where his quick wit and comedic timing was perfect. He never failed when it came to hitting those particular beats.

Eddie was comforted nevertheless. He sniffed, not thinking too much as he leaned in to rest his cheek against his friend. "Thanks, Rich," he said thickly.

Richie straightened his back the moment Eddie made contact with his shoulder. Fine. That was fine. Suddenly his hand felt heavy on Eddie’s shoulder and he glanced down at the top of Eddie's head. He was relieved he was unable to see Richie’s face, because he was certain his cheeks had turned some shade of red in response.

Eddie felt Richie stiffen and he read the reaction as discomfort. Embarrassment burned Eddie’s cheeks, but before he could move away, before he could open his mouth to apologise, Richie was taking a deep breath and his arm was sliding around Eddie’s shoulders, securing him closer.

Eddie’s whole body instinctively sagged. He let his weary eyes shut, Richie's comforting smell filling his nostrils, too exhausted to do anything but welcome it. It felt good to be encompassed by him in a gentler way, preferring it to being pulled about and prodded and and having his hair mused up.

Richie just held him, praying Eddie couldn’t hear his rabbit heart. 

It was an awkward position; Richie having to hunch himself over slightly to get his arm around his friend, Eddie’s cheek smushed up against him, his nose brushing against the collar of Richie’s shirt as he breathed, the meeting of their thighs warm.

Richie’s mind was running a mile a minute, running through everything he had just learned to try and distract itself from Eddie’s close presence.

He could understand Eddie keeping his mother’s illness from the whole group to avoid their pity, but Richie? He had thought they had a closer connection than that. Richie may have been guilty of distancing himself for both their sakes, but Eddie should have known he could have called Richie if something serious was happening.

"Why... " Richie stopped to clear his throat. "Why didn’t you tell me earlier?" 

Eddie swallowed and pulled his fingers in his lap. "I was going to," he answered, "but Ma didn't want me telling anyone. And I thought you… I thought you were avoiding me. No, I _know_ you were avoiding me. You're so obvious, Richie. I'm not stupid." Eddie’s last words had a little more harshness to them, a little more hurt.

Richie was _obvious?_

His eyes widened, forcing himself to remain untense as he panicked.

Was he really? _No!_ He was so careful. What did Eddie know? _How_ did Eddie know? 

Richie was so terrified by the mere prospect it took him a moment to clock that Eddie was talking about him _avoiding_ him, nothing more. 

He didn't know what to answer at first. He didn’t want to lie to Eddie, but he knew the full truth was off-limits, too, if he wanted to keep their friendship. He went with, "I know. I was just getting used to it. Everyone not being there, I mean. I was just getting used to us not being able to hang out all the time.” He gave a little chuckle, trying to lighten the atmosphere. “Isn’t that dumb?”

Eddie didn't reply, frowning, although he didn't pull away. 

It didn't feel like the truth. If Richie was getting used to being away from them all, then why had he spent so much time with all their other friends? Did Richie think Eddie wasn't going to hear about his and Bev's trips to the quarry to toke up? See Richie and Stan hanging out together in town square whilst he ran errands? 

It was a small town. It had hurt Eddie's feelings. The problem had to be Eddie himself.

As quick as Eddie was to usually voice his irritation with Richie, call him out on his bullshit, this particular situation felt much more precarious. Eddie was feeling much too vulnerable to push it. He was scared of saying the wrong thing and that Richie would only cut Eddie out of his life further, so he stayed quiet.

“I’m gonna miss you a shit load, man,” added Richie.

"Even in between partying and studying and instant noodles?" Eddie finally spoke up.

Richie replied instantaneously, "Before, during _and_ after partying and studying and instant noodles."

Eddie huffed a small, drained laugh, Richie’s playful answer making him feel a little better.

Richie squeezed Eddie into his side. His ass was numb and he was still half drunk, but he imprinted it all to memory, the good and the bad, knowing this would most likely be the last time he ever got to be so close to him ever again.

Although, thinking more on it, he wasn’t sure how he was going to bring himself to leave Eddie now he knew what he knew. Before he had felt real excitement at getting to leave Derry behind in his rearview mirror, had been so certain Eddie was onto bigger and better things, too. Now crossing the town lines was just going to feel like abandonment.

Richie tilted his head toward him. "Eddie,” he said, barely audible, just for Eddie to hear. “Are you gonna be okay?" 

Eddie’s instinct was to say 'yes,' to give Richie the answer he wanted to hear so they could both drop it, so that Richie could go off to college guilt-free, get out of their terrible town, leave it behind, become the star Eddie knew he was destined to be. 

His mouth snapped shut without his consent. He reopened it to try again, to say ‘yes’, but was failing.

The lie was stuck in his throat. 

Eddie's bottom lip trembled. He squeezed his eyes shut tighter to fight what was coming, but more tears escaped, glad Richie wasn't able to see it.

He was being pathetic.

Still, despite his shame, Eddie was too weak to do anything but shake his head.

No. He wasn't going to be okay. He was barely okay as it was. He needed a friend. He needed the arm that felt so good around him, needed where their skin touched, needed the rumble of his voice. Needed him.

The embrace was cathartic, even as awkward and uncomfortable as it was, perched on the rim of Eddie's bathtub, under the artificial glare of the string-pull light, a sidewards hold that was barely a hug to start with.

Eddie's breathing hitched.

“Hey, hey,” hushed Richie, a hint of panic to his tone like he was comforting a hurt animal. “Hey, hey, hey. It’s okay.”

Maybe it had been a stupid question: all of Eddie’s friends were leaving and his mom was dying from cancer. Richie felt bad for being stupid enough to ask. 

Eddie could feel the dam breaking again. He was desperate to brick himself back together, to bounce back and tell Richie he wasn’t a child, but he struggled, his misery uncontrollable, audible in every breath he took.

If hearts could actually break, Richie was pretty sure that was what was happening to him, Eddie’s muted sobs cutting him deeper than his own ever had. 

Richie reshifted himself so that he could embrace Eddie fully, both arms going around him, broad hand sweeping up and down Eddie’s back in an attempt to calm. "It's okay," he repeated. 

The moment Richie’s arms went around him, the re-bricking stopped. It was the comfort Eddie had been craving all this time, everything Richie was in that moment all he had ever wanted.

"It's okay," promised Richie. “It’s okay, Eds.”

The dam came crashing down. A guttural moan of pain was released from deep inside Eddie where it hurt the most. His tears were muffled where he hid his face, hands snaking behind Richie so he could grasp the back of his shirt. 

"It's not okay," he wailed, "I'm a bad person. I don't want her to die, but I just want it to be over," thoughts Eddie had never spoken aloud came to the surface, instinctively trusting Richie, "I wanna go to college. I don't wanna- I don't wanna lose you. Please, Richie. I can't lose you." Eddie could barely catch his breath over the sobs. "Tell me what I've done wrong."

"Nothing," reassured Richie, rocking them back and forth as if he was comforting a young child. “You’ve done nothing wrong.”

It wasn’t entirely accurate. Eddie was guilty of having kept everything to himself and forcing himself to push through it alone, but Richie wasn’t going to tell Eddie that. Richie was focused on the more important point; that Eddie didn’t deserve his life being derailed like this. He should be able to leave like everyone else, or if he was going to stay in Derry, it should be by his own choice, like Mike.

As much as Richie wanted to go to college, he would have given anything to swap places with him, let Eddie go to New York whilst he stayed behind instead. He would do it in a heartbeat if he could.

"You're not gonna lose me,” finished Richie.

"But I've already lost you!" blubbered Eddie. He let himself be soothed by Richie's movement, his touch, too upset to be embarrassed. "You saw everyone but me- why won’t you tell me why?! Just tell me! Tell me, Richie! I must have done something, why won’t you tell me? I know you saw them without me! I know it!"

"It's not-" Richie stammered. 

He hadn’t counted on Eddie noticing, especially when Eddie had been so distant himself that summer. Richie moved a hand up to pet the back of Eddie’s hair. He could feel himself tearing up as well, cornered by Eddie’s demands. He hated that he had hurt him, was hurting him, but knew he could never tell him the truth, that Eddie’s disgust would be worse than his current state.

"I did," confessed Richie. "I did see them and I'm sorry."

The apology was inadvertently for many things; for seeing their friends behind Eddie’s back, for creating distance between them when Eddie had needed a friend the most, for asking Eddie if he was really gonna stay in Derry until his sick mother _dropped dead._

"I can’t explain, I just- Dude, just please believe me when I tell you didn’t do anything wrong.”

Eddie cried harder, both in relief and frustration. 

“You didn’t do anything,” murmured Richie again, still rocking them, still stroking Eddie’s hair.

Eddie just cried and stayed wrapped up in Richie's arms. He wanted to believe Richie’s reassurance but it was hard.

It took a while, but Eddie eventually calmed back down again, breathing shallow and snotty.

He drew back, eyes puffy and red, wet cheeks pale from the overexertion. 

Richie pulled a smile. It was forced, but it was the only thing he could think to do in the presence of Eddie's sad, swollen face.

Eddie cracked a tiny, withered smile back and got to his feet.

He reached for the toilet roll and tore off a row of squares. He used it to clean up his face and blow his nose, dropping the tissue into the wastebasket once he was done. 

Richie watched him silently. He was about to joke that he looked like shit, but held his tongue at the last minute. Not the time. He had been through enough for one day.

Eddie washed his hands and his face in the sink next, avoiding Richie's gaze as he dried himself off. His attention only returned to his friend once he remembered his original task, Richie still sat on the edge of the bath, still watching him behind his thick lenses. 

Eddie retrieved the bottle of hydrogen peroxide and used it to soak a cotton pad. He cleared his throat and re-approached Richie. “Show me your hands,” he instructed, warning, “This is gonna sting a little.”

"That's what I told your mom-” Richie cut off as Eddie dragged it over his hand. “Holy fuck!"

Eddie shushed him, shooting a glare at both the implication of Richie fucking his mother and his loud mouth.

“Dude!” complained Richie. “You said a little!”

“It is only a little. You’re just a baby,” teased Eddie like he hadn’t just sobbed the damp patch into Richie’s t-shirt mere moments ago.

“Am not. You’re just a sadistic little fucker,” said Richie. It looked like he had been right in suspecting it was supposed to hurt after all, they just hadn’t gotten to that part yet.

Eddie grinned, dropping the used pad into the trash and soaking a second. “One more,” he said.

“It better be.” Richie offered up his second palm, the alcohol having already dried on the first.

Eddie swiped the disinfectant over the area and Richie cursed under his breath. He dragged his hand back as soon as he was finished, inspecting them both. He opened and closed his fists experimentally, the sensation sore, although the burn had disappeared.

"Now we can go to bed," said Eddie, tossing the final pad into the bin, dead on his feet.

Richie nodded, standing up. “I can stay here, right?”

"Of course you're staying here. What kind of a dumbass question is that?" said Eddie, hands going to his hips. He checked his watch. "It's half four. You think I’m gonna send you home at half four?"

Richie shrugged, chuckling as Eddie called him out. He was relieved by it. It suggested that Eddie was already feeling a little better. “I guess not.”

Eddie shook his head at him, unable to believe Richie had really thought he was going to kick him out. He was always welcome in Eddie’s home. Eddie put everything neatly back into its place in the first aid box, gently clicking it shut and setting it against the wall to be put away tomorrow.

Tomorrow. Eddie knew very well that tomorrow they were going to wake up and pretend the whole night hadn’t happened, not the argument nor Eddie’s breakdown, as per usual, Eddie firm in his mind that he preferred it that way.

Waiting for Eddie to tidy up, Richie became preoccupied with making fists out of his hands again, wanting to see if it would feel differently as time progressed. It didn't, his hands felt the same, achy and dry. He wondered if he licked his palm, would it taste like booze? Probably not a good experiment to attempt when Eddie was standing right next to him.

Eddie watched Richie fuss over his hands a few moments, feeling a pulse of fondness. "Come on, you big baby. Let’s go.”

Richie looked up when he was addressed. He stuck out his tongue and pulled a face, proving Eddie’s point.

Eddie snorted, the pair maneuvering around one another so that Eddie could grab the door, Richie pulling the light cord and engulfing them back into darkness.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie should offer to take the floor, but he doesn't.

Richie tossed himself sideways onto Eddie’s mattress once the bedroom door swung shut behind them, springs creaking at the sudden impact. "If my hands fall off, it’s up to you to find something cool to replace them with," he said. “I wanna be like Johnny Depp in that Burton movie!" He mimicked a pair of scissors.

Eddie snorted. "Edward Scissorhands," he informed dryly, flicking on the lamp by his bed, shutting the curtains. "And your hands are not gonna fall off. If anything, I just prevented that from happening."

“You better have,” replied Richie. Maybe it was for the best. Edward ends up alone again in his mansion, forever making snow from his ice sculptures after all. That would be a pretty shitty life.

The room was mainly the same as it had been when Richie had last visited; tidy, surfaces dusted, worn carpet vacuumed within a inch of its life. Eddie's desk was a little barer since they no longer had any schoolwork to complete. His bookshelf was still lined with his books and his comics, however, all tucked into their individual plastic sleeve protectors. He noticed Eddie's cassette deck was missing from the bottom shelf but didn’t comment on it.

Eddie had moved over to his dresser, sliding open his pyjama draw.

His back was to Richie as he pulled his jumper off over his head, shoulder blades rolling with the smooth motion. It had been the right decision to wear something a little heavier, the summer nights in Maine still having a bit of a chill to them.

He religiously showered and moisturised every morning (he knew _Aveeno_ was intended for women, but dry skin made Eddie feel unclean) so his naked skin was unblemished and creamy, hair sprouted dark and trimmed under his armpits, practically non-existent on his chest and arms, a fact that made Eddie feel self-conscious and emasculated.

It had Richie’s entire attention in the warm glow of the lamp, his eyes unintentionally searching out each and every freckle before he could control himself, the desire to touch Eddie’s soft skin alight inside.

Eddie shrugged on the shirt of a striped pyjama set, his bare back disappearing from view again, deft fingers buttoning up the front.

Richie’s Adam’s apple bobbed, feeling dirty and forcefully looking away. In need of a distraction, he began counting the squares in the pattern of Eddie’s duvet.

Even turned away, Eddie could feel the change in the atmosphere, but was unsure what it meant. Changing in front of Richie always felt different than it did in front of their other friends (barring Bev, who he had never so much as taken his shirt off in front of outside the pool or the quarry.) 

It always felt like he was under a microscope, a spotlight, his every move important, even as Richie no doubt stared off, completely indifferent. Eddie glanced over his shoulder, working on his belt. "You wanna top and tail like we did when we were kids?"

Richie was so focused on the sheets, he almost missed it when Eddie started talking to him. 

He knew he should probably say no, that he would just take a pillow and blanket and sleep on the floor. He had done that before. It was a bitch on his back but eventually he would be too tired to notice. Eddie was a sleep-kicker, too.

“Sure,” he said instead. He felt shy looking back to Eddie, telling himself it would be rude not to. "I’m the top.” 

Richie snickered at himself, knowing fully what it sounded like he was implying, anxious to add some levity into the room. Joking about was his way of removing himself from the situation.

"No, I'm going to be the top," answered Eddie, momentarily oblivious to the sexual implications. "It's my bed, asshole."

It wasn't as if beds really had a 'top' and a 'bottom', but Eddie's neurosis meant he wouldn't be able to sleep if he laid switched around, needing things done the right way to feel comfortable.

Richie burst out laughing, quickly covering his mouth in remembrance of Sonia downstairs. He didn't wanna wake her, but Eddie’s oblivious directness struck a nerve.

“What?” said Eddie, just as sharp, his brows furrowed together. “Richie, shush!”

“That’s what-” wheezed Richie, “that’s what I told your mom last week!”

“Wha-?” Eddie’s face curdled with realisation. “Ugh. That’s so gross, man.”

Richie continued laughing, shifting around the pillows and pressing back against the headboard. 

He took off his glasses, setting them on the nightstand and shrugging off his short-sleeved dress shirt, tossing it onto the floor. He planned on sleeping in his t-shirt and pants, wanting to avoid any awkward skin-to-skin contact. They weren’t kids anymore, after all. His laughter petered off.

Eddie rolled his eyes and turned back to his dresser to drop his pants.

Richie was immediately relieved he’d removed his glasses as Eddie’s blurry form turned skin-coloured from the waist down. He averted his gaze again. “Anyway, I picked top first so that means I get it. Sorry, I don’t make the rules.” 

Eddie pulled up the pyjama pants of his set, tying a loose bow with the strings. "I think you'll find that since it's my house, I'm the one who makes the rules, so move your ass to the other side of the bed.”

“But, Eds, I’m _comfy_.” To stand his ground further, Richie pushed his legs under the covers, getting laid down.

“Not my name,” said Eddie, folding his clothes up on top of the dresser and dropping his boxers into his washing basket. He climbed onto the bed and smacked Richie’s arm playfully, more on the side of a tap than an actual slap. “Now move.”

Richie smirked, sliding further down under the covers. “No.”

Eddie glared. "You are so not funny.”

“What do you mean? I am hilarious.”

“You wish.” Eddie yanked the covers off Richie’s body and pulled them over himself. He got settled on his back beside Richie, their shoulders touching as they both looked up at the ceiling.

Richie snickered, letting Eddie have the duvet but staying put.

Eddie sighed. He shifted onto his side towards him, opening his mouth to continue arguing when he was distracted by Richie’s jeans. "Hey, Rich, aren't you gonna be uncomfortable wearing those? I can find you something else to wear, if you want."

Richie looked to Eddie out of the corner of his eye. “Dude, you wear, like, girl sizes.” He waved a lazy hand above them. “I won’t be able to fit into anything.” 

Eddie bristled, rolling back over and crossing his arms with a huff.

He was self-conscious about his size, even if it wasn't too far off the average, having hoped in earlier years he was just a late bloomer and would soon sprout up and out. It was embarrassing watching all their friends growing stubble and chest hair whilst Eddie was left with nothing but a few whiskers on his upper lip. He often fretted if his penis was on the smaller size, too, as painfully humiliating as it would be to utter aloud. Eddie had nothing to really compare against.

He wasn't sure exactly why it all bothered him so much. He often came to the conclusion it must have something to do with Eddie being less dateable as a result, but Eddie had never felt a real interest in dating in the first place.

Richie’s teasing gave Eddie the memory of being sat in the canteen in eighth grade, listening to Bill and Richie drooling over the new girl in homeroom. He thought about when they had found an abandoned playboy out in the quarry, everyone crowded around to ogle at the ladies inside. Sure, they were pretty, but Eddie just didn't get the appeal.

He must just be a late bloomer to this kind of stuff, too, waiting for when he would wake up one morning with a penchant for breasts and it would suddenly all make sense.

"Fuck you, I have normal sized clothes," argued Eddie. "You're just a gangly freak of nature."

"Hey,” replied Richie, “if you want me to take off my pants, you can just say so.”

He snickered to make it obvious he wasn’t being serious. His secret always felt safer after making even the mere concept of two men being together into a gag in and of itself.

Eddie flushed a bright shade of red and sat bolt-upright. "I do not! Shut the fuck up!" he squeaked out, indignant. "Why would anyone want to see _you_ without your pants on?"

"Well, since your mom likes it a lot, I figured it might be a family thing," said Richie, nudging Eddie's arm with his elbow with an over-dramatic wink to seal the deal. “Runs through the Kaspbrak family-”

“Beep beep!” Eddie smacked Richie in return with a little more force, a grumpy pout to match his dark-ringed eyes. “Stop being so fucking disgusting!”

Yeah, Richie thought that sounded about right. He camouflaged himself with more laughter. 

"I'm too tired for this," protested Eddie, the heat leaving his cheeks a little. "If you're not gonna move, then fine- actually, it's better! This way I won't have your feet in my face all night!" He didn't have it in him to fight any longer, shifting back into laying down. 

“You don’t like my feet?” Richie fought the smile from his face that came in reaction to Eddie’s relinquish. He was pleased with the outcome, sickened with himself for it. ( _Disgusting.)_

It was exactly what he had wanted, deep down, to get to sleep beside Eddie where he would get to see his sleeping face. He would have no doubt given in to Eddie’s demands eventually if he had kept going, but Richie had won this small victory, even if he had only received it due to Eddie’s lack of energy. He had done a lot of crying and screaming after all.

Eddie didn’t grant Richie’s stupidity a response. He stretched out a hand for the lamp, clicking them into darkness. He got comfortable, tossing more of the blanket Richie's way and deliberately tucking up his body so that nothing was touching him. "Goodnight."

"Night, Eds," he spit out his last gag, grinning up at the ceiling.

Eddie puffed out some hot air, but for once, didn't say anything, just huddling down and closing his eyes.

He was truly exhausted and he fell asleep all but five minutes later, soothed by the sound of Richie's breathing beside him, the warmth of his presence despite the narrow space between them.

Richie wasn’t tired, not anymore, staying where he was and accepting the little amount of blanket Eddie had cast him. 

Once Richie could tell he had drifted asleep from the change in his breathing, Richie turned his head towards the silhouette he knew as Eddie, brown eyes adjusting to the darkness.

After half an hour or so, Eddie’s eyelashes began to flutter, mouth mumbling nonsense, and before long his entire body was stretching out. The single bed did not allow for much room, ending up invading Richie’s space; a foot against his ankle, an arm over his chest, blowing warmth over Richie with every breath.

Richie almost gave a little squeak of surprise when Eddie’s cold foot touched his skin, but the longer it rested there, the warmer their connection became.

He mostly stared up at the ceiling but occasionally observed Eddie’s face, unable to help himself. He worried over his stressed mumbling, his unpeaceful expression, wishing he could offer him more support than just an armrest. 

Richie found himself focusing on not breathing too loudly, on forcing himself to remain still, hoping his quick heart beat wouldn’t wake him up. It was excruciating and a reminder of why Richie had distanced himself in the first place, but Richie couldn’t say he regretted being there, sore palms tucked awkwardly by his sides.

He finally drifted off.

*

At 7:30 A.M. an alarm clock blared. Eddie gave a startled inhale and sat upright in Pavlovian response. His eyes were half-lidded. He automatically patted for the off-switch

Richie, woken just as abruptly, growled in a daze and covered his face with his hands.

The sound silenced, Eddie fisted at one of his eyes. He blinked towards Richie, raven hair tousled, pink crease marks from his pillow stark against his cheek. “Morning,” he croaked, already numbly climbing out of bed onto his feet.

“S’the middle of the night,” complained Richie, making up for the loss of Eddie’s warmth by rolling onto his side and dragging the covers over himself.

“It’s daylight,” answered Eddie raspily.

Richie just moaned, his response to both Eddie and his body’s announcement of it’s impending hangover as his initial grogginess began to dissipate.

Why the hell would Eddie set an alarm during the summer? He felt like he hadn’t slept at all, like he’d rested his eyes for a mere moment and then the morning had appeared. The impulse to plead for Eddie to come back to bed filled him, fleetingly fancying himself the sleepy, horny lover from one of Maggie’s romantic comedies.

He didn’t, of course. He didn’t have a death wish. Instead he settled on his stomach and hid his face in the crook of his elbow.

Eddie rolled his eyes at his melodramatics. “Are you staying for breakfast?”

Richie tried to muster the energy to reply. He said yes in his mind but he was unsure whether it had translated out loud or not. His mind was too hazy.

Eddie waited for a response that never came. He watched the rise and fall of Richie’s body, the taper of his hair down the back of his pale neck, a stray, socked foot poking out from under the duvet. 

Must have fallen back asleep, thought Eddie, briefly had a flutter of petty jealousy. He wanted nothing more than to flop back down beside RIchie, but he knew he couldn't. 

His gaze drifted to his arms and his mind supplied how they had felt around him last night. He wondered what a version of that would feel like if the two of them were wrapped up together under his covers. 

Alarmed by the weird thought, Eddie mentally shook it off and left the room.

Richie half-listened to the door click shut. He listened to the creak of Eddie’s stairs. The faucet ran beneath him. Soft murmurs. Eddie’s gait as he returned to the landing, into the bathroom. The squeal of the shower.

As he drifted he thought about last night’s shared closeness: the way Eddie had cradled his hands, leant his head against Richie’s shoulder, pressed in as Richie had hugged him, rested his foot against Richie’s ankle in this very bed. Richie would give anything to get more contact like that, but he didn’t want Eddie to be in such a rotten state to get it.

Richie was on his back when Eddie returned, towel around his waist, body damp. "Hungover?" he asked with a slight smirk.

“Mmm.” Richie squinted at him. He much preferred being brought into a more concrete consciousness by Eddie’s soft voice than the screech of his alarm earlier. “Not too bad.”

Eddie grinned and Richie’s head dropped back down onto the pillow, eyes resting. He heard Eddie open his wardrobe, the scratch of the hangers against the clothes rail.

By the time Richie opened his eyes again, Eddie was in a pair of jeans, left arm going through the sleeve of a button-up. It was mostly just a load of blurry shapes of colour, though.

“Eggs,” Richie continued. He lifted his upper body using his elbows, focusing on Eddie’s blob. “I want eggs.”

Eddie glanced back. “Are you sure?” he pressed. “Remember what happened last time?”

He turned around to face Richie and shrugged into his other, remaining sleeve. He knew Richie was blind as a bat, but his direct attention whilst he was half-naked still gave him a slight unease. ...No, ‘unease’ was the wrong word. He didn't think on it too much.

Richie shifted into sitting up. “It’s not my fault eggs have that egg-ie smell to them,” he defended with an over enthusiastic gesture of his hand. It knocked into the nightstand, reminding him his glasses were close-by.

Eddie raised a thick brow, buttoning up. "And what else, exactly, would eggs smell of other than _eggs_?"

"Eggactly my point!" replied Richie nonsensically with a couple of finger guns. He reached for his glasses, welcoming his vision back.

“What?” Eddie snorted but quickly caught himself. "Dude, that doesn’t even make sense." 

Richie knew Eddie was right. In all honesty he had just wanted to say the pun. “Does too.”

Eddie tucked his shirt into his jeans and grabbed his favourite sweater vest. “Absolutely does not.”

"Does too. I just get a little sensitive is all,” rolled on Richie, “like a pregnant lady. You wouldn’t call her out like this, would you, Eds? Where’s my respect?”

Eddie bubbled out another laugh, head popping out the hole of his sweater. "That is not the same thing and you know it," he said. 

He smoothed down the fabric of his ensemble and awarded Richie a bright smile, dimples popping at the corners of his mouth. He found Richie genuinely hilarious most of the time, but often hid his amusement, suppressing his laughs and muting his smiles so Richie wouldn’t know how much he was able to affect him. Richie was always spurred on louder and longer when he had a receptive audience.

Richie was delighted to have scored a laugh. He mirrored the smile immediately, Eddie’s happiness highly contagious, gave him butterflies.

Eddie opened a desk draw and scooped a little hair gel into his palm. He rubbed his hands together, carding them through his damp hair before he smoothed everything into place with a comb and a hand mirror.

Richie liked seeing Eddie go through the motions of carefully primping himself for the day. It was something Richie never bothered with. Having both bulky glasses and a bird’s nest for hair, his face was always hidden, so what was the point of grooming his appearance? He made up for it with his clothing sense; obnoxiously coloured fabrics mismatched up over whatever Seinfeld or Metallica t-shirt Richie grabbed first off his bedroom floor.

Eddie had finished up and was tidying everything away. He re-focused on Richie and tried to ignore how soft he looked with his wild hair and dopey, sleepy eyes.

"Come on. Get up so I can make my bed," said Eddie. "I left you out a spare toothbrush in the bathroom."

Richie slumped backward with a grin. "You're just gonna sleep in it again, what's the point?"

"The point is that it's scientifically proven to boost your mood and start your day right," said Eddie. He grabbed a fistful of the covers and tossed them aside. “Plus I like my room to be tidy. Just because you like to live in a pigsty doesn’t mean we all do, Tozier _._ ”

Richie gasped in mock offence, one of his hands going to his chest. His act quickly dropped with a quick chuckle. He spread himself out like a starfish and said, "I'll give you the bed if you give me my eggs.”

“Richie,” complained Eddie.

Richie grinned. “The egg-resistance will be victorious!”

Eddie’s lips almost twitched into a smile. Almost. _Almost._ He went for Richie's right ankle, using all of his weight to try and heave Richie off the edge of the bed. 

“Hey!” Richie called out in response. “This is a violation of our negotiation terms! My human rights!”

“You have no human rights,” replied Eddie

Richie laughed. He was heavy. Eddie managed to drag his leg halfway off the bed before his back twinged in protest. Eddie kept the pain from his face and dropped Richie’s ankle unceremoniously. He straightened up and put his hands on his hips, shooting Richie a glare. Richie wiggled his eyebrows with a new smile, enjoying the sight of Eddie acting like some angry mother on her last straw. 

The two fell into a stare off.

Richie, knowing he had the upper hand, got himself comfortable on the mattress and threaded together his fingers on his stomach. 

Eddie was sensitively aware that he didn’t have the time to be messing around and broke first, "...Fine, I'll make your eggs. Just promise me you aren’t gonna throw up afterwards. If you spew all over my kitchen again I will kill you. I do not wanna clean that shit up."

“Seems reasonable,” agreed Richie cheerily. He outstretched his hands towards Eddie. 

Eddie eyed them. He let out a sigh and took hold, bracing himself to lug Richie up.

Richie smiled. Eddie’s hands were soft and he liked getting an excuse to hold them. He was raised up into sitting again with Eddie’s support, about to get to his feet before he changed his mind. With a childish grin he grabbed Eddie’s wrists and flopped backwards, pulling Eddie with him.

Eddie was caught off guard, stumbling forward. His knees knocked against Richie’s, landing directly on top of him with an “oof.”

Richie was laughing until Eddie ended up flush against him. He hadn’t meant for that to happen. He had only meant for Eddie to fall beside him, had just been trying to wind his friend up further.

Eddie shifted himself up and their faces became a hair's breadth away from one another.

Eyes wide, they both held their breath.

Eddie became immediately, instinctively aware of Richie's crotch pressed against him. The realisation sent a pulse of something unreadable through him that frightened him deeply, a little rabbit caught in headlights. A deep, reddish flush dyed Eddie’s entire face, his ears, his neck.

Richie swallowed at the sight. Then Eddie scrambled off him and time went back to normal.

"What the fuck, Richie?!" Eddie’s voice scratched up an octave. "Do you have any idea how dangerous that was? What if I'd hit my head? I'd have a concussion!”

Richie’s cheeks caught fire. The gag had been nowhere as funny as Richie had imagined it would be, but he still tried to save it anyway by chuckling at Eddie’s dramatic reaction. 

"But you didn't!" Richie replied. It was possible he had gone too far, but he wasn’t willing to think about it. "Shouldn't you focus on that instead? Jeez, Eds." 

"But I could have! And don't call me that!" Eddie yelled at him. "Do you ever think about _—_ about the impact of your actions?"

"No," said Richie truthfully with another nervous giggle. He probably shouldn't have answered that so quickly, but Richie knew himself, knew he rarely thought anything through before he did it, especially if it seemed like a great idea in the moment. 

He was a slave to the instincts that grabbed him, and in that case his instinct had been to drag Eddie down onto the mattress. Maybe that in itself was a suspicious move, maybe he _should_ have thought it through, but at the time he hadn’t given himself the time to even consider the implications.

“Well, you should, you jackass!” Eddie was on a roll. “And will you get out of my bed already?! I’ve asked you, like, ten times!”

Richie remained quiet and obediently got up. He didn't see the point of apologizing. He would probably just end up making an even bigger fool of himself.

Eddie continued to grumble about Richie acting like a complete idiot as he smoothed out his sheets and neatened his pillows. "And I'd just done my hair," he tacked on as if it were something important, which it wasn’t considering Eddie had nothing planned for the day. 

"...I wouldn't hurt you," Richie piped up, hoping Eddie wasn't actually mad at him.

Eddie softened slightly, his pout receding. "I know," he agreed, glancing over his shoulder.

Richie smiled, thankful.

Eddie tucked the last edge of his duvet under the mattress. "Now let’s go. Ma'll be waiting for her breakfast."

“Alright.” Richie nodded and followed behind Eddie onto the landing. The pair went downstairs.


	5. Chapter 4: Bonus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Illustration I


	6. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They laughed. That's what they were; some dork and a fucking nerd. A pair of losers.

Eddie and Richie were, predictably, accosted the very second they reached the bottom of the stairs. "Eddie!" Sonia's voice came through the living room. "What is going on up there?"

Eddie went ahead to bob his head through the doorway. "Sorry, Ma. We'll keep it down. Richie's here. He's staying for breakfast."

Sonia sniffed. "Hasn't got a kitchen at home, has he?"

Eddie resisted the urge to roll his eyes and felt Richie approach behind him.

“Hey, Mrs. K-” Richie’s greeting cut off at the sight.

The curtains were drawn, but even in the darkness Sonia’s transformation was obvious. Half of her was gone, her pyjamas loose against her saggy body. She was sat up, pillows plumped behind her. Her hair was hidden under a bandana. Her hands were clasped together on her lap rather than where they had always rested on her stomach.

Richie had no clue how to continue.

 _You’re looking great?_ Disrespectful.

 _Long time no see?_ Yeah, no shit.

 _I missed you?_ Fucking what?

In the end, he left it as it was, and instead gave her a wave like nothing was out of the ordinary.

"Hello, Richard," returned Sonia, as frosty as ever. "You'd think I should be charging you for how often you use my home as your own personal little bed and breakfast."

Richie chuckled, uneasy and nervous.

"Ma," interrupted Eddie. "Stop."

Sonia sniffed again and looked away at the wall.

Eddie sighed. He backed off, grabbing Richie's t-shirt sleeve and tugging him after him into the kitchen.

“I’ll make it up to you!” Richie called out as he was dragged away. He _had_ stayed over a lot, especially as a kid, but he was a little confused why Mrs. K was making him out to still be some kind of freeloader after not seeing him for so many months. 

He wasn’t sure why but part of him had been expecting her to be happy to see him, or at the very least more tolerant. Richie liked to imagine she had eased up to him and his flirtatious charms over the years. Sometimes Richie even thought maybe she had come to enjoy his company from time-to-time. 

Turned out that had been just another Tozier fantasy.

In the kitchen, Eddie pulled open the fridge. He set an egg carton and a butter dish out on the counter.

"I think she missed me," said Richie, jerked a thumb backwards.

"You know what she's like," answered Eddie. He clicked on the stove, the gas ring bursted to life and he got out a frying pan.

Richie became distracted by the organised mess of the kitchen table. It was taken up with medication and paperwork. There were pill organisers, orange pharmacy containers, syringes, single-use needles, serum bottles, bills, doctor's notes, an A4 notepad filled with Eddie's handwriting and a school calculator.

It made Richie feel shy. Yet another thing that had changed and become just another part of Eddie’s life without his knowledge. A life that Richie had actively distanced himself from.

Had Richie been selfish for thinking Eddie should have been the one to reach out? Eddie had already been handling so much by himself, it made sense he hadn’t had the time to consider to ask Richie for help. Especially after he knew Richie had been avoiding him. 

_“I don’t wanna lose you_ _—_ _Tell me what I’ve done wrong_ _—_ _why won’t you tell me?!—Just tell me!_ _—_ _Tell me, Richie!”_

"How do you want your eggs?" the Eddie of Richie’s present cut in. Bread disappeared into the toaster and Eddie dropped a pad of butter into the pan.

“Cooked,” said Richie as it sizzled.

Eddie rolled his eyes, knocked open the egg carton. “Okay.”

He clicked on the radio on the windowsill whilst he waited for the butter to liquify. Its volume was already at Eddie’s preferred setting, the DJ’s voice cutting in low and humming.

He cracked two eggs onto the hot metal, bumped up onto his tip-toes so that he could reach one of the spatulas above his head. If Richie wasn’t being fussy he’d just make them sunny side up. It was easier that way and Eddie knew Richie liked to dip bread into runny yolks, didn’t care much for the risks of salmonella.

It was nice to have Richie there. Eddie had been feeling especially lonely recently.

Richie, on the other hand, was trying not to read the papers on the table, but his curiosity got the better of him. A lot of the words in the letters weren’t in Richie’s vocabulary, but he noticed that Eddie’s notepad was filled with tables and numbers.

The weatherman was reported on the hot day ahead of them. Eddie filled a pot with milk and set it onto the stove beside Richie's eggs so he could make his own breakfast: oatmeal.

"There's been a lot going on, huh?” said Richie. “This summer?"

Maybe Richie should have kept the subject dropped but he had already said it before he could think better.

Eddie didn’t bother biting his tongue and replied, "Yeah, no shit."

It wasn’t his intention to be rude but the biting reply left him without his consent. Richie’s general presence tended to make him comfortable enough to become so loose-lipped, Eddie his most off-guard when it was just the two of them.

Richie’s smile was audible as he replied, “Fair enough, stupid question.”

Eddie huffed a laugh. He glanced over his shoulder to return the smile but paused when he was met with Richie’s hovering. He wondered why for a brief moment but then saw the table behind him. The dots joined up. "You can sit down, Richie. It's still just a table."

Richie felt dumb being called out. Eddie was right, it was still just a table and it was silly he was being so hesitant. He’d sat there many times. Then again, those times hadn’t been so complicated.

Richie nodded and pulled out a chair. He forced his hands to keep to themselves, didn't touch anything. The papers and pill bottles were obviously very important, worried he would mess up Eddie's careful placement if he began fiddling.

Eddie went back to the frying pan. The DJ introduced the Pet Shop Boys' new track before it drifted out from the windowsill. 

Richie drummed his fingers. "Hey, uh. Does she... still eat?"

Eddie didn’t reply straight away. He silently set off the coffee machine.

Richie realised that might have been another stupid question. He’d only asked because Eddie had told him the cancer was in her stomach, had seen her dramatic weight loss. He opened his mouth to try and save it but was interrupted,

"She can eat a little," said Eddie. He poked at Richie’s eggs a little to make sure they weren't stuck to the bottom of the pan. "Sometimes she throws it up, sometimes she doesn't, but her appetite has been getting worse recently. She's the sickest after she's just had her chemo. They gave me this nutrition powder to give her that you mix in water, you know, to make sure she’s getting everything she needs, but she hates it."

There was a slight discomfort to Eddie's voice at first, but it eased the longer he spoke. It felt good to finally have someone to share it with who wasn't the one dying before his eyes.

Richie stayed silent.

"You probably noticed… she's lost a lot of weight."

Richie’s automation was to joke that yes, he’d noticed, and that Sonia’s diet was working out great. He, of course, stopped himself. Even Richie could see how inappropriate that was. "Yeah, no shit," he replayed Eddie's previous answer instead, playfully imitating his inflection.

Annoyed he was entertained by Richie’s dumb wit, Eddie succumbed to grinning at the stove. “Dick.”

Richie cracked a laugh and the air between them became a little more breathable again.

“...Hey, Eddie?”

“What?”

"How long has this been going on for?" 

Eddie sighed. He looked up at the ceiling as he counted back through the weeks in his head, tried to recall the exact date he'd awoken to his mother’s sobbing in the bathroom, crumpled in on herself in agony.

It must have been a Sunday because he remembered having to call in to school the next day. He remembered holding her clammy hand as the doctor gave them the news. Her pale face, her pursed lips quivering. He remembered her pushing her glasses up her nose, informing the doctor shrilly there was obviously a mistake, that people like her didn’t get cancer.

"Do you remember when I missed that mock algebra test? A week or so before our finals?" Eddie jogged both his and Richie's memory. 

Richie nodded. He couldn’t remember the test itself, but he could recall Bill complaining about it.

"Since then."

Before finals. Richie was surprised but at least he now had a rough timeline. Those months had been tough. Richie never needed to study for exams the way all the losers did and it had felt like no one had had time for him. Eddie had been so wound up those last weeks. Richie remembered only seeing him at compulsory classes, disappearing at lunchtime and study hall, claiming he worked better at home and—

“Oh,” breathed Richie. It suddenly all made sense.

He watched Eddie plate up his eggs and butter some toast to go with them. Maybe Richie _should_ have offered to help, but it was too late by then. He crossed his arms and rocked his chair a little.

"Here. Your eggs,” said Eddie as he set Richie’s breakfast down in front of him. "Now you've just got to keep up your end of the bargain."

"Which part? Staying out your bed or not throwing up?" joked Richie. He grabbed the fork and dug in.

"Both," said Eddie, deadpan.

"I'll see what I can do," smirked Richie, mouth already full.

Eddie rolled his eyes again openly. He spooned out two bowls of plain oatmeal, setting one of them down on a breakfast tray. He filled a glass with water, took a packet from the table and emptied its contents into the water, stirred it with a spoon. He chopped half a banana into the first bowl. "I'll be right back," he told Richie, lifting up the tray.

Richie nodded and watched Eddie’s back leave the room. 

He swallowed his mouthful and considered his uneasy stomach. It wasn’t too bad. He mainly just felt tired. He smiled a little. Eddie had made breakfast for him. No doubt he would have made breakfast for any of the losers, but Richie let himself indulge in the idea he was special for just a moment.

It wasn’t long until his attention was taken back up by the millions of different papers in front of him. _Don't read someone else's mail!_ his mind supplied, sounding just as his mom had scolding Richie as a child when he used to steal the neighbours out of curiosity.

The notepad didn’t count as mail, right? Right? _Right?_

Richie couldn’t help himself. The second attempt at self-restraint had been just as fruitless as the first. His eyes skimmed Eddie's scrawl. His handwriting was usually easy-to-read, but the numbers and words were sloppy. It didn’t take Richie long to recognise it was a budget. He looked closer. Eddie’s incomes included _work, savings_ and something called _Dad’s trust fund._ The outcomes were a lot heftier: gas and electric, groceries, medical bills and, most worryingly, _loan repayment._ Richie didn’t want to think about it’s implications.

Eddie re-appeared and Richie’s head snapped up.

"She's pissed off I'm not eating with her,” Eddie informed.

“Oh?” was all Richie replied, nonchalant.

“Yeah.” Eddie swept up the papers Richie had just been perusing, giving them more room. He fetched his own breakfast and poured out two cups of coffee. He brought out the sugar and creamer, too, before he took a seat. 

Richie stayed the observer. He knew it wasn’t Eddie’s intention but his words twisted guilt in his stomach. He countered it by eating another forkful.

Eddie, oblivious, spooned some oatmeal into his mouth.

It didn't taste like much, and Richie's fried eggs smelled much better, but unlike Richie, Eddie was hyper aware of all the trans fats and carcinogens fried foods contained. He only ate his eggs either boiled or poached. Diet was number one preventative of a myriad of diseases, including cancer. Eddie had tried to say as much to Richie in the past, but he didn't listen. Much like the smoking. Eddie had long since given up that battle, too.

Eddie sipped his coffee and hoped it would wash off how badly he wanted to go back upstairs to bed. "You should call Mike and have Bill drive your car into town."

"Yeah, actually I was thinking of walking up there after this, check to see if anyone's still there.” Richie put his elbow up onto the table and leant his chin against his palm. 

Eddie nodded along, drank more coffee.

"So don’t you worry, Eds, soon I'll be leaving you and you’ll never have to see this pretty face ever again.” Richie grinned and made a frame around his face with his fingers.

Eddie didn’t laugh. "Only for today, right?" he asked, serious in the face of Richie’s clowning around. "We should... you should come around this week."

Richie raised his brows at Eddie’s tone. His selfish plan of familiarizing himself to a life without Eddie had been put on hold the moment Eddie had broken down last night. Like he was going to leave him now. He couldn’t help much, but he’d be there for Eddie as much as he wanted him. Eddie didn’t deserve to struggle through this alone, although it was an inevitability in a few weeks.

" _I never make plans that far ahead,_ " replied Richie’s newest voice, putting himself in the shoes of the starring man from high-grossing film _Casablanca_.

"...Was that supposed to be Rick Blaine?" asked Eddie incredulously, although his eyes undeniably danced with mirth. The impression had melted away the tinge of vulnerability Eddie was putting out, their dynamic resetting.

Richie’s accompanying mask slipped, grinning whilst he slurped up the last bit of egg. He grabbed for Eddie's mug to reenact his next scene. “ _Here's looking at you, kid!_ ” he cheered loudly, raising it up. 

"Hey!" cried Eddie, suppressing giggles. "Be careful with that!"

Despite his feigne irritability, Eddie secretly adored Richie’s impressions and voices. His ability and range had improved drastically once his voice had finally dropped for good, although a few could become a little grating when Richie used them at the wrong time (The British Guy.)

Eddie had always been in awe of Richie's fearlessness to just be himself, to perform instinctively for whatever audience was around. Eddie even attributed what little self-confidence he did have in him to have been helped along by Richie's aid. His friends were the only people he could ever be himself in front of.

“Use your own cup.” Eddie took back his coffee from Richie’s prying fingers. He tried for indignant but another little bubble of laughter came out.

Richie smiled and let him take it back. _“Well, if I gave you any thought I probably would.”_

Eddie laughed, entertained.

Richie, chasing after the high of Eddie’s approval, threw out another quote, _"We'll always have Paris.”_

Although Richie preferred his flicks filled with horror and action, there was something about those sloppy, romantic films in black and white his mom would watch on repeat that he had a soft spot for. It wasn’t something he bragged about. When Beverly had found out that _Say Anything_ was one of Richie’s go-to’s, he hadn’t heard the end of it for weeks.

"I think he needs a little more work,” teased Eddie.

Richie dropped the act, grinned. He wasn’t offended, rather saw it as a challenge. “Fine, I swear I’ll give you the best Rick Blaine you’ve ever heard by the end of the week.”

 _By the end of the week._ Eddie read in between the lines and smiled back. “You better,” he said, feeling a sense of relief. “You dork.”

Richie scoffed and threw back, “Yeah? Well, if I’m a dork, you’re a fucking nerd.”

"I'd rather be a nerd than a dork, dork," retorted Eddie, just as playful.

They laughed. That's what they were; some dork and a fucking nerd. A pair of losers.

‘Dork’ couldn’t possibly be anything negative for Richie. Not after what all the kids at school used to shout at him and the others. _Dork._ For some reason he thought of Beverly. She used to say that, too, during that awkward phase both Bill and Ben were crushing on her hard. 

He didn't care to connect those dots.

Breakfast finished with, Eddie cleared up his and Richie's plates into the sink. He rinsed them off and left them to be washed up later alongside his mother's. Richie took to rocking on his chair again.

"Will you stop doing that?" scolded Eddie. He had pointedly ignored it the last time, but Richie was now teetering just a little too far back for his anxiety to handle. 

“Doing what?” asked Richie innocently. He pushed back a little further, balancing himself out with one foot.

" _That_ ,” Eddie informed him. “First of all, you're going to crack your head open. And secondly, more importantly, you're going to break my chair, and I know you don't have the money to replace it."

Richie smirked and began to paint the scene, "Don’t worry, my dad’s insurance will cover it after all the blood from my cracked-" 

He was rudely interrupted as Eddie came up from behind him and grabbed both his shoulders, eased him down so that all four legs of the chair were stable.

Eddie could have probably just used the back of the chair for the same result, but he liked having the excuse to touch Richie a whole lot more. It wasn't often he got to, usually having to wait for Richie to initiate the physical contact between them.

Sonia was and always had been an overly-affectionate mother, but Eddie had had it drilled into him his entire childhood she was the only one he could trust not to infect him. Other children were dirty. Their parents, too. Even teachers. Eddie was to keep his hands to himself. Eddie was to wipe down library books before he read them. Eddie was only to eat the lunches she'd pack for him every morning before school.

Richie looked up as he was set down, trained his face to remain unaffected. 

Eddie’s upside down face looked back, vaguely unimpressed. 

Richie missed the warmth of his touch the millisecond Eddie released him. 

Eddie checked his watch, smoothed down his sweater. "I need to get Ma dressed and help her wash. You can stay or you can leave, I don't care." 

It was a lie. Eddie did care. He wanted Richie to stay but he didn’t want to pressure him by voicing it. Whilst Sonia was insistent on Richie leaving her home ASAP, Eddie wanted nothing more than the distraction, the company of someone his own age. It didn't matter if it was particularly Richie, or at least that's what Eddie told himself.

"Alright.” Richie shrugged, stood up from his chair.

He felt a bit disappointed by Eddie’s announcement, wasn't sure what he would do if he did decide to stay. It wasn’t like he could help take care of Eddie's mom, he could barely take care of himself. Richie needed to go anyway. His dad’s car was still at Mike’s and he wanted to get it home before his dad noticed. He probably had but Richie was holding out hope.

"That's out of my area, my proficiency is undressing your mom." Richie made some finger guns.

Eddie’s hands went to his hips. "You're disgusting," he told him plainly. It felt strangely comforting that Richie wasn't changing his go-to jokes. Made things a little more normal.

Richie smirked. “You know it. Thanks for breakfast, Eds.”

Eddie was unprepared to be thanked so genuinely. The satisfaction it made him feel meant he had to glance away awkwardly. “You’re welcome,” he replied, trying not to let his pleasure bleed onto his face too much.

Richie nodded. “You’ll call me when you’re next free?” he kept his tone deliberately casual, like it wasn’t a big deal.

“Yeah,” agreed Eddie, much too eagerly. His fear that Richie was going to go right back to ignoring him once he was past the Kaspbrak threshold went unsaid.

They walked back through the hall. Eddie stopped at the door to the living room. The thick curtains were then open but the privacy netting underneath was still drawn. Sonia was sat up in her bed, slightly slumped forward. Her eyes were closed behind her glasses, food untouched, TV droning dully in the background.

"Ma," Eddie called to her. "Ma. Ma."

Sonia's eyes opened, gaunt and visibly unwell. She straightened upon becoming lucid.

"Richie's going now."

“Hm.” Sonia's lips pursed, eyes drifting above Eddie's head to meet Richie's gaze. 

Richie wasn’t sure what to say so he just waved again.

"Goodbye, Richard," replied Sonia, her curt politeness cutting.

"Never goodbye, Mrs. K,” he said warmly. “I'll see you later.”

At the front door, Richie put on his shoes. Eddie silently watched. He was glad to see he had the common sense for once to lace them up properly, although it would remain to be seen if the trend would be kept up by the end of the week. Eddie knew first hand Richie's attention-span when it came to making better life choices was limited.

"Thanks, by the way," said Richie whilst he tied. “For… you know.” He released the laces to show upturned, scabbed-over palms.

Eddie was pleased to be given more gratitude, replying, "You're welcome. Just make sure not to pick at them or you'll make them scar."

“Yes, siree!” Finished with his sneakers, Richie stood up. He crossed his arms, looked down at Eddie as he spoke, “Hey, Eds. Y’know, if you ever need any help…” Richie wasn’t sure how to put it, but pushed on, “I’ll help you. With, like, anything.” He shrugged up a shoulder, awkward.

Eddie swore he felt his heart physically soften, a rush of fondness coming over him so strong it caught him off guard.

It was like he could see every detail of Richie's face, feeling important and special as Richie tried to be serious, just for him. Only a few seconds of that soft, unsure kindness Richie gifted was enough to silence every niggle of self-doubt and worry Eddie had. This Richie could never not care for him, this Richie could never not like Eddie anymore.

Eddie was hit with a sudden, irrational impulse to kiss him. Wait, _what?_

Eddie schooled his expression, offered Richie the wisp of a smile. His heart pounded hard and fast in his ribcage. "I know, you doofus." 

Richie scoffed, none the wiser as his whole body loosened. “If I’m a doofus, then what does that make you?”

“Obviously a doofus-spotter.” Eddie unlocked the front door, calm, pushing the rising alarm down into the pit of his stomach. "I'll call you tomorrow, okay?"

“Alright.” Richie went in to hug Eddie goodbye but changed his mind at the last second, nudged his arm instead. He decided to act like it was in response to Eddie’s doofus-spotter comment, going out onto the porch.

“Bye,” said Eddie, hand on the door handle.

"Yeah, I'll see you later," said Richie.

Eddie began closing the door when Richie turned back around at the last second.

“Actually, Eds…”

Eddie paused, raised a questioning eyebrow.

"If I run into the others, what should I say? Like, what do you want me to..." Richie still wasn't sure how to form the question right. He hesitated. "Like, if they ask about... You know." Richie gestured with his hands as his words stumbled about. "I can just say that you were tired?" Tired. Like that was believable. Richie just didn’t know what else to suggest.

"Yeah, like they're gonna buy that,” Eddie echoed Richie’s thoughts. He reopened the doorway and hovered. Unable to think of the answer straight away, he rolled his lips nervously, finding them a little dry and reaching into his pocket for his chapstick. He didn't use it just yet, fiddling with the small, plastic tube of carmex.

Eddie glanced back into his home, back to Richie who was waiting expectantly. "If you know about Ma, then the rest of the losers should know too," he decided. "Just not about the..." 

Eddie thought of his upstairs bathroom, of early hours, of _"Hey, hey, hey. It's okay. It's okay."_

"...other stuff. If they ask, you can tell them. If not, I’ll tell them later."

Richie nodded along to Eddie’s instructions. Only tell if he was asked. Keep out the other stuff. He could do that, hoped that it took some weight off Eddie’s shoulders. “Alright.”

Eddie gave a small, thankful smile.

Richie kept nodding. “Okay. Well, call me.” Oops, that had come out more suggestive than Richie meant it. “ _If you need anything,_ ” he quickly tacked on to try and save it. “You don’t even have to wait for tomorrow. It can be, like, for dinner or-” Richie was making it worse again. He chuckled awkwardly, scratched the back of his head. “Or anything.”

Eddie's smile grew wider and wider as he watched Richie fidget and fumble, trying to reassure Eddie he was there for him in his special, awkward way. It was working, Eddie was reassured, and it was so endearing he felt close to bursting. “Okay, Richie.”

“Okay,” chimed back Richie. “Uh, bye."

When he turned around, Richie covered his face, hiding his expression for the outside word as he walked away from Eddie's house. Well, that went great.

“Bye,” Eddie called after Richie’s retreating body, warmth in his voice. He waited for him to reach the street before he chimed a brief laugh and relocked the door.

He excused the intensity of emotion in his chest away as due to being isolated from all his friends for so long. He'd been so sad lately, of course Richie's charm was having a bigger impact. That must have been why Eddie had thought about kissing him just then. It wasn't that he actually wanted to kiss Richie, it was just that he cared about him so much, just that he'd been so stressed and alone that his brain was just getting it's wires crossed. That was all.

The rest of the losers made him feel like this, too. Safe and looked after. Bev's fierce protectiveness, Ben's soft heart, Stan's steady presence, Bill's self assurance, Mike's beaming warmth. Eddie loved them all. It was only natural he loved Richie, too. They looked after one another. 

Eddie realised he had a weird niggle of guilt that he'd been keeping such an important part of his life from everyone. Had that always been there?

He returned to his mom. Sonia was looking even more deflated now they no longer had company. 

"Ma,” he said, patient, “you know you gotta at least drink the water. You need the vitamins."

"I'll drink it later," she replied softly, her eyes slipping back shut.

Eddie applied his chapstick nervously as he watched her. Looked like it was going to be one of those days.


	7. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It doesn't take very long for Eddie to call.

The walk back to the farm felt much longer by himself, but at least Richie was able to walk at his regular walking speed this time. Eddie was fast, but two of Eddie's steps were one for Richie, so he always had to slow himself down for him. 

Reaching the crunch of the gravel path, Richie’s eye caught on the colourful novelties of his keychain. “Oh, fuck,” he muttered, realised he must have dropped them after he ate shit earlier. He crouched down to snatch them up, his dad’s car saved yet again by the bright plastic. 

At the barn, Richie was caught by Mike before he could slip away in Went’s wagon. Richie kept what had happened vague, waving off everyone’s worries with the excuse of Eddie just being tired. Mike didn’t buy it, but he didn’t push, instead told Richie that he and the rest of the losers had decided they were going to meet up again at Bill’s on Wednesday.

“A last,  _ last _ get-together,” quoted Mike. “It would suck if we left it after what happened.”

Richie agreed and the two chatted a little longer before he went off on his way.

At home Maggie didn’t bat an eye as he waltzed in, so used to Richie appearing later than promised. She asked questions she didn’t care for the answers to and Richie gave two, three word responses, disappearing upstairs once they’d finished their predictable, pointless back-and-forth. He didn’t mention staying at Eddie’s.

He spent the rest of the day recovering.

There wasn't much meaningful conversation at dinner either. The three of them sat in their usual spots around the table, Went going on about some colleague not being up to scratch, Maggie making noises of agreement. Richie wasn’t paying attention. His mind was busy replaying the sweeter parts of last night.

Eddie tending to him. Eddie in his arms. Eddie’s soft breaths against his cheek. He might not have slept well, but it had been worth it. Maybe it was wrong to be revelling in the moments he’d spent with Eddie at his most vulnerable but he couldn’t help it. All he had ever wanted was to be close to him. He’d already thought about Eddie in a lot more comprising ways after all.

In the next room, the landline rang. Before Maggie could get up to answer it, Richie threw himself out his chair, bounding out into the living room before he could be called back.

"Jell-O!" greeted Richie. 

He turned just in time to see his mom give him an unimpressed look from the doorway.

“Tozier residence,” he added to appease her.

She rolled her hand for Richie to continue.

“Richie speaking,” he said, looking her in the eyes as he did so. He refused to call himself  _ Richard _ as she insisted, but he’d throw her a bone.

On the other end of the line there was a stifled laugh. “Hey, Richie. It’s Eddie.”

"Heya, Eds!" Richie sparked up, turned away from his mother to indicate the call was for him.

Just the sound of Richie’s voice alone was enough to relieve the burden of stress off his shoulders. He smiled. “Not my name.”

Richie laughed.

Through the open doorway, Sonia snoozed in her armchair as soap opera reruns played in the background. Her favourite blanket was tucked around her body, a cup of herbal tea untouched on its saucer beside her. 

On Eddie’s end, it had been a long day. 

A little after Richie had left, Eddie had convinced Sonia to eat before she’d promptly thrown it back up. Worried, Eddie had patiently helped clean her up and got her dressed and into her chair for the day. He spent the rest of the day putting the house in order, and a little later, when Sonia threw up her lunch, too, he called her doctor with his concerns, tugging at the phoneline’s cord much like he was now.

Instructed to give Sonia an extra half tablet of her antiemetic with promises they’d review her medication at their next appointment, Eddie did as he was advised, popping a couple ibuprofen for himself afterwards. Eddie had been trying to ignore it, but the strain of constantly hefting around Sonia’s weight the past couple months was causing a lot of discomfort in his back.

The afternoon had been a pain, too. Going to fetch the sheets from outside, Eddie had discovered they’d flown off the line and had been sat crumpled in the mud for three hours. Then, just after Eddie had painstakingly organised Sonia’s pills for the next week, he had knocked the entire organiser off the table, spilling expensive medication everywhere, trying and failing to lug the fridge aside to collect those that had rolled underneath.

At 4:30PM he’d served Sonia an early dinner of vegetable soup. She had refused to touch it and demanded mac and cheese instead. Eddie gave in to her wishes through gritted teeth, stirred together cheesey pasta on the stove. Before Eddie’s ass could touch the sofa with his own meal, however, she was vomiting again, only this time all over herself.

Eddie had felt a hot flash of frustration but it had vanished as she began to cry. He jumped to her aid and comfort, got her re-changed and wiped clean, scrubbed the carpet, fetched her toothbrush and the cup of tea she was yet to drink.

He had wanted to scream into his pillow and sleep for an eternity, but instead he’d found himself out in the hall, dialing the Tozier’s home phone before he could think too much about it, the number ingrained into him by muscle memory.

In all honesty, he was in half a mind to just invite Richie over now that he had him on the line. Would that be weird? Of course it would. Eddie wished they could go back to when they were thirteen and he wasn’t trapped by all this overthinking, back when their friendship hadn’t been so rocky and unstable.

“What’s up?” asked Richie, then, more seriously, “Is something wrong?”

“No,” said Eddie. He traced the polished table they kept the rotary on. “Just bored.”

“Oh,” said Richie. He and Eddie rarely spoke on the phone anymore, not to check in on each other anyway. They had as kids for fun, but as Richie got older he always felt like his mother calling people just to ask how they were, especially when everyone lived so close and he’d see them at school anyway.

“Why? Does something have to be wrong for me to call you?” Eddie was more than a little accusatory, still touchy after a summer of being ghosted.

“No,” replied Richie, guilty. Maggie gave up her hovering and returned to the table. “I was just worried is all.”

Eddie softened. “...What have you been up to today?”

"Well," Richie began, "I think you'll be happy to hear that my Rick Blaine is spot on now. It’s crazy. I turn black-and-white and everything.”

“Wow.” Eddie smiled into the receiver. “You should come over and show me.” 

Immediately upon the words leaving his mouth, Eddie realised just how suggestive they were. His cheeks went rosey.

“I mean-” he stuttered, “when you next visit, I mean. I can judge it.”

_ What? _ What the hell did that mean? Eddie covered his face, feeling like he was digging his own grave.

He bulldozered on before Richie could get a word in, “I’m at work all next week. It sucks, dude.”

Brows high, Richie nodded numbly on the other end of the phone. He had initially figured Eddie was messing about, but his quick, flustered correction scratched that off. Before Richie could smooth it over into a joke though, Eddie had already abruptly moved on. 

"At Pierce’s?" Richie went with it, turning in slow circles and letting the cord wrap around his body. "Mr. Pierce still hates me, you know. He always gives me the evil eye whenever I see him around town.”

"Gee, I wonder why," said Eddie. "Aren’t you guys still working through all that toilet paper?"

Last summer at the Toziers’, Eddie had opened their storage closet to fetch something and had been taken aback by the sheer amount of them stacked up in there, rolls crammed into every conceivable nook and cranny. At the time he had laughed so hard he'd almost wetted himself, and even just a mere reminder of the memory caused a little giggle to escape him.

Richie positively beamed at the sound. “Yeah, yeah. We’ll see who's laughing when we’re prepared for the impending apocalypse and you’re not.”

Honestly they had enough of the stuff for the next millennium, let alone an apocalypse. It didn't help Maggie kept buying even more of it, complaining Pierce’s toilet tissue felt like wiping your ass with sandpaper, much preferring the brands found in the grocery store.

“Uh-huh,” said Eddie. “By the way, I can’t believe you still eat dinosaur chicken nuggets. I mean, I am assuming your mom is buying them for you. Kind of makes sense you'd be into toddler finger food considering you only just learned how to tie your shoelaces this morning."

With a laugh, Richie responded, "Well how are you supposed to eat your chicken unless they’re shaped as tiny brachiosauruses and small stegosauruses, huh? And you gotta have ketchup on the side so you can pretend to be a T- Rex eating them up." Maybe Richie had a childish mind but at least he had fun.

“Gee, you really are just a big kid, huh, Tozier?” laughed Eddie, leaning his hip against the wall, resting the side of his head against the wallpaper.

It was a little bit of a rebellious act, as ridiculous as it was, Sonia having scolded Eddie his entire childhood not to lean against things, especially not the paintwork. It was something people with no manners did, and more importantly, who knew what germs could transfer from a surface as dirty as a wall.

"Nu-uh,” argued Richie. “Honestly. I don't know how you expect to have returning customers if this is how you talk to them, judging their purchases like this.”

"I do not judge customer's purchases!" cried Eddie, tacking on with a devious smile, "At least not out loud... Besides, you're not a customer, Mrs. Tozier is. You've been unofficially banned from our store. Mr. Pierce has a picture of you in the breakroom and everything. Do not Serve."

"And yet still here you are, serving me this information, judging my purchases like any other customer." Richie snickered. He had reached the maximum length of the cord and had to twirl back so he wouldn't break anything. He could hear his mom starting to gather the dishes from the kitchen, obviously deciding not to wait for Richie to get back.

“I’m off the clock right now.”

"Such a vigilante! You could have your own comic, Eds."

A vigilante checkout boy. Eddie snorted at the ridiculousness of it, but he'd bite. His imagination wasn't as vast or wild as Richie's so he enjoyed getting to see just how much convoluted bullshit he could pry out of him. "Okay," he agreed, looking forward to seeing where Richie took this trainwreck of a concept. "What would my superhero name be?"

" _ Obviously _ Vigilant-Eds," Richie said, and Eddie laughed again.

It was enough to warm Richie from head-to-toe. He always felt puffed up whenever Eddie responded to his jokes. It wasn’t a rare phenomenon, but his laugh was forever the one he wanted the most, the one he would always look for when he was cracking jokes or impressions for the losers. He’d do whatever means necessary to get a reaction, even if that sometimes meant making Eddie the butt of the joke, egging him on to throw something back, be that a one-liner or a punch.

Getting his attention like this was even better than when he had front row seats to  _ Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade  _ with Bill.

"You’d fight shoplifters and angry moms whilst protecting the ice-cream and the scratchcards,” he continued.

Richie had shoplifted a couple of times, so he would probably count as the villain in this scenario. Being apprehended by Eddie actually sounded pretty hot. He’d save that thought for later.

“Is that really the best you can come up with? Vigilant-Eds?”

“Yeah. That’s your secret persona…” Richie kept talking, but Eddie blanked it when he caught sight of his own reflection in the mirror opposite. 

In that brief moment his eyes caught himself, he had looked almost... smitten. The churn of ambiguous discomfort from that morning returned with a vengeance, the one that had appeared when Eddie had become a little too invested in Richie’s lips. 

"Wh- what?" said Eddie.

Cut off from his building storyline, Richie gave a confused, “Huh?”

“Sorry, Rich, I, uh,” Eddie looked away from his reflection. “blanked out a little.”

“Okay…” Richie dragged out, audibly thrown. Then, "Everything okay?"

“Yeah. Yeah, of course. Why wouldn't it be?" replied Eddie a little too fast, straightening up off the support of the wall. 

“No reason,” said Richie, just as fast, continuing his incessant cord-fiddling. 

Worried Richie was going to pursue his questioning further, Eddie cleared his throat and pushed on, "By the way, do you wanna come and have my lunch break with me tomorrow? It's only half an hour but it'd be nice to spend it with someone. I know it's less of a hassle for you since you live closer to town."

It took a moment for Richie to process the gear change, but once he had, he gave an enthusiastic, "sure, Eds!" glad that Eddie couldn’t see how wide he was smiling at being asked.

“Not my name.” Eddie was warmed, smiling back just as wide, relieved his delight was hidden.

"You want me to bring something?” Richie carried on. “Or do you wanna eat in town?" Maybe thirty minutes wasn't enough time to go somewhere but Richie wanted Eddie to have the option.

"No, don't bring anything. I'll make sure to pack enough for both of us," informed Eddie. He only just realised he'd completely derailed Richie's impromptu explanation of Eddie's vigilante checkout boy character. Nevermind, the moment was over and it would just be awkward to bring it back up. 

“Alright.” Richie didn’t want to be ungrateful, but he was used to seeing Eddie bring those cardboard sandwiches and Greek yogurts for lunch at school and he wasn’t a fan. He’d grin and bear it for Eddie though, if that’s what he wanted.

“Richie,” Maggie interrupted from the doorway. “Are you going to finish your dinner or not? It’s gone cold.”

“I’ll eat it after, mom,” replied Richie, none too politely.

“It’s okay,” Eddie’s voice came back down the receiver. “I have to go now anyway. I’ll see you tomorrow at one?”

Richie’s shoulders slumped that the call had been cut short by his mother’s interference. “Yeah, man. See you then.”

“Bye.”


	8. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Come on, Eddie. Life's too short to be worrying over a dropped sandwich."_

Maggie, much like she was at the news of Eddie’s phone call, was surprised to hear Richie was going to meet him that afternoon for lunch.

"Haven't seen him in a while," she’d said. Had added, "You even took a shower for it!” like it was a big deal.

Regretting telling her in the first place, Richie had brushed off her comments and left via the back door.

He should have just said he was going to the store, but it had slipped out before he could stop himself. He didn’t like mentioning Eddie around his parents anymore, too paranoid they could somehow see his hidden feelings from just his face.

It was going to be one of the first meetups of just the two of them in a while. 

Normally, if any losers were hanging out, the word was spread to see if anybody else wanted to come along. Of course, that became more difficult as they got older. It was rare for all seven of them to be free to be able to do something spontaneously. It was just the way things were.

Richie took his bike to town; his dad needed the car for work and it was nice enough weather to avoid public transport.

A little more rested after a full night's sleep, Eddie had just got off the store's phone to make sure Sonia was okay. He was about to remove the divider from the cash register when he caught sight of Richie pulling up outside. He paused what he was doing to cross the store, flipping the sign over to 'closed' as he popped his head out. 

"Mr. Pierce isn't here," he greeted Richie with. "Come in whilst I lock up."

“Hello to you, too, Eds,” replied Richie with a grin at his bossiness, kicking his bike stand down.

“Still not my name.” Eddie held open the door for him and they shared an awkward smile.

Met with the desire to hug him, Eddie was about to instinctively push it away, but then changed his mind. Why shouldn’t he hug Richie? He was his friend, and Richie hugged Eddie all the time, or at least he used to.

Decided, Eddie moved forward to briefly squeeze Richie into a half-hug.

Richie didn't have time to react to it, because before he could Eddie was already pulling away. He was glad Eddie wasn’t looking at him, too busy locking the door, pulling the shutters.

"Wow, you're closing down just because of lil' ol' me?" Richie put a flattered hand to his cheek, glanced about as a way of steading the warmth in his stomach, to calm himself. He hadn’t been in there in almost half a year yet it hadn’t changed one bit. "You shouldn't have."

"Shut up," said Eddie without any real bite, going back behind the register. "Come on."

Eddie went through into the breakroom and Richie followed.

Richie had been back there before. Many times, in fact. Strangely, the little space made him feel more nostalgic than Eddie’s house had yesterday, but he guessed that was just due to so much having changed there with Sonia.

Eddie set down that morning's earnings on a nearby surface (Mr Pierce liked the cash register to stay empty and open over Eddie's lunch break after the man had once been robbed fifteen years ago) and was careful not to muse up his hair as he lifted off the ugly, green fabric of his apron.

Hanging it up, Eddie fetched his bag and the pair sat down together at the breakroom's rickety table.

Any other day Eddie would have just packed up leftovers, but since Richie was eating with him and, in his own words, 'had a vegetable intolerance', Eddie had put together something for them instead.

"Turkey and cheese," he informed, setting the cellophane wrapped sub down in front of Richie. "Iced tea," he set a bottle of Richie's favourite brand out next. "Pudding cup. You're welcome."

Richie smiled wider and wider with each new item. When Eddie had said he’d sort his lunch out for him yesterday, he had anticipated a cardboard cut-out of the kind of stuff Eddie usually ate, had almost brought the cold pizza from the back of his fridge with him just in case. He was glad he hadn’t. This was much better.

“Thanks.” He cracked open the bottle of _Nestea._ A natural conversationalist, he continued, "Crazy morning?"

"I wish," complained Eddie. “I've had, like, two customers all day.”

Already chewing, Richie nodded along. Extra cheese, he noticed. Just how he liked it. And across from Eddie. Also how he liked it.

"Mr. Pierce said I'm getting a raise though, so there's that.” Eddie unwrapped his own lunch (the same as Richie's, but with less cheese and added salad) a bottle of spring water and a little tub of cherry tomatoes. 

“Congrats, man!” Richie spoke with his mouth full. No doubt that was a relief with how tight money had looked when he’d glanced over Eddie’s finances. He swallowed and leaned forward over the table. “Dude, you practically run this place. He should just hand you the keys and retire to Florida or something.”

Although feigning impassivity, a half-hidden, smug smile bursted to be free at the seams of Eddie’s mouth that Richie thought he was capable of managing a whole business by himself. Richie’s opinion of him was very important to Eddie, his approval making Eddie feel good about himself. He’d missed it.

"Thanks,” he said. "And don't talk with your mouth full, you overgrown toddler."

Richie held up his hands in defense, deliberately dropping the sandwich onto the table haphazardly. In retrospect that was just another toddler move but he was committed to the role.

“Richie!” scolded Eddie.

"What?” snickered Richie. “Come on, Eddie. Life's too short to be worrying over a dropped sandwich."

“Still, you didn’t have to _throw_ it everywhere!”

“I didn’t throw it. I set it down.”

“Bullshit. Set it down my ass. Now it’s ruined.”

“No, it’s not. Look.” Richie plucked the sub back up and took another bite.

“Ew! Dude!”

“Mmm.” Richie smacked his lips. “Delicious.”

“That is so gross.”

“Are you saying you don’t wipe the table?”

“Of course I wipe the table!”

“Then what’s the problem?”

Defeated, Eddie huffed. “Trashmouth.”

“Yup, that’s me.” 

Eddie rolled his eyes. He complained but he secretly enjoyed the way Richie committed his all to his bits, seemingly invincible to what everyone around him thought of it.

He liked a lot about him; the relaxed way Richie always held himself, the way he was lounging about currently. His thick curls, the slope of his nose, his full lips. His god awful fashion choices; the hawaiian shirts and the big glasses. The long limbs. It shouldn't work, but it did. Stirred something inside Eddie he had always read as jealousy.

What he did know with a certainty was that Richie was going to have a lot of girls after him the moment he got to California.

Not that Eddie would dare to ever voice any of this. Instead he simply snapped open his tupperware container of tomatoes, popped one into his mouth. He made a point of chewing and swallowing before he asked, “How’s your morning been then?"

“Spectacular!” Richie flourished dramatically, making his own point of _not_ chewing and swallowing before he answered.

Eddie gave a pointed look and Richie snickered at it.

In all honesty, Richie didn’t have a lot to tell. He’d only just rolled out of bed an hour ago. He’d taken his shower, but that was nothing to brag about, especially not around Eddie who made the effort every day. “I think this is the earliest I’ve been up all summer.”

“Dude, it’s past noon,” pointed out Eddie.

“Ugh, you sound like my mom.”

Eddie laughed, reaching for another baby tomato. 

He liked Mrs. Tozier. Mr. Tozier, too. Although he was more familiar with Richie's mom than his dad. He actually saw quite a lot of Maggie in the store, often popping in for her gossip magazines and whatever cheap finger food Mr. Pierce had filled their discount chest freezer with. He’d learnt more that summer about what Richie had been up to through small talk with her than Richie himself.

"How are your parents?" Eddie asked anyway.

Richie raised a brow to Eddie's question. 

It wasn’t like he had a bad relationship with them, but it wasn’t anything special either. Maybe he had one of the better ones compared to the rest of the losers, but his family life just… was.

His dad worked a lot and it wasn’t like he waited for him to come home anymore like he did as a kid. They had their moments, sometimes on the weekends they would listen to some records together, Guns N’ Roses and Black Sabbath, share the inside jokes that his mom never understood.

Maggie had tried to bond with him when he was younger but they never quite clicked with one another. She loved him, and of course Richie loved her back, but there was always an invisible distance between them he couldn’t explain. All they really had was a soft spot for the same movies, which Richie would join her on Sunday nights to watch, at least when he had nothing else going on.

Both his parents were both vocally eager for him to move out, gushing about all the opportunities he was going to have outside Derry, but sometimes their pushy encouragement made Richie feel like he wasn’t wanted around.

Neither really cared for his interests. Didn’t get the video games, nor the comics or the science fiction novels. 

At best, family time was him and his dad mimicking the different personalities on Maggie’s soaps, the pair being hushed and scolded that she couldn't hear the program despite her grins and giggles. 

"Good?" Why did that come out as a question? Richie knew they were good. He corrected, "They’re good. Maggie’s doing some new diet her friend told her about. It's ridiculous. She can only eat ‘low-fat’ this, or ‘low-carbs’ that, and she’s forcing herself to eat half a grapefruit before every meal. Like you have no idea how many fucking grapefruits we have at home at the moment, dude.”

Eddie quirked a smile. Maggie always was a big follower of fads, and he was kind of comforted that things seemed to have relatively stayed the same in Richie's household. 

Richie continued, "And Dad's been working a bunch to pay off their flight to California, you know, so they can drive the car back.”

“I still can’t believe you managed to convince them,” replied Eddie. Although no longer on a hair’s trigger at the mention of college, there was still a mild pang of jealous melancholy he was unable to smother.

“I mean, who can say no to this face?” said Richie, fluttering his lashes playfully.

“I can think of a few people.” Eddie was dry.

Richie pouted, pressing his cheeks together making some sort of fish expression. 

Eddie snickered at his silliness, eyes sparkling with engagement. “You used that look on your parents?”

“Sure did.” Richie grinned.

In the end, both Went and Maggie knew that ultimately no matter what they suggested, Richie was going to do what Richie wanted. They’d struck a deal that he would regularly update them of his progress once he was there, although it was yet to be seen whether or not it would be followed through.

Richie was looking forward to it. He’d miss everyone for sure, but he was ready for his new beginning, one where no one knew him and no rules were set in place.

Eddie was, secretly, pretty in awe of the whole thing. He would never have the balls to do something like Richie planned. Move all the way to the other side of the country, take such a risky degree. He was in admiration of him.

He knew how desperately he wanted to get out, how desperately they all did, and soon Richie was finally going to be free.

As devastating as the realisation had been that Eddie wasn't getting to New York any time soon, abandoned and alone, there was some comfort to be had that Eddie wasn't going to have to go through the anxiety of being thrown into a new, strange place like college. That he was still going to have his bedroom and his routine and his town that he'd lived (somewhat) comfortably in all of his life.

The furthest he'd ever travelled was the other side of Maine to visit Aunt Lillian and Aunt Vera, after all. A big city was much different.

Still, there was that little niggle to just pack up all his things and run away, too.

"You better come back for Thanksgiving," he told Richie, tried to make it on the side of stern rather than pleading.

Richie released his face, let it go back to normal. “Of course, Eds.”

Eddie sighed with resignment.

" _But_ in other news," Richie wasn't sure how to bring it up so he just inserted into the flow of conversation awkwardly, using as natural of a tone as he could manage, "I spoke to Mike yesterday."

Eddie un-bristled. His doe eyes flashed down to his sandwich, catching on a stray bit of lettuce poking out the side. He assumed that meant Richie had told him everything. Eddie wasn’t sure whether he was relieved or panicked. "Just Mike?" he asked quietly.

"Just Mike," confirmed Richie. He shrugged up a shoulder, averting his own gaze, too. "And look, he asked, and I know I said I’d tell them if they did, but I’m sorry, man, I just couldn’t do it."

It was a guilty admission, but in the moment it just hadn’t felt like it was Richie’s place to inform their friends of something so serious second-hand. It wasn't Richie's mother, Richie wasn’t the one who’d broken down into floods of tears in front of everyone. He wanted to help but he didn’t know the full story, didn’t know the medical terms, or even _how long_ she had left.

"Oh." Eddie, again, was unsure whether to be relieved or panicked. He mulled it over, taking a drink of water to soothe the sudden dryness in his mouth. 

“Yeah…” continued Richie awkwardly.

They continued to avoid one another’s gaze.

"Maybe that’s for the best," Eddie decided. "I probably shouldn't have asked you in the first place. It was kinda unfair."

Richie shook his head automatically, tense, hadn’t meant any harm by what he’d said. “Don’t worry about it. I just didn’t know what to say.”

Able to hear the anxiety, Eddie hated that he was causing it. It was as if Richie was on edge _because_ of him, like he was waiting for Eddie to be mad. Was that really what Richie thought of him? That this was something he would be angry at him over not feeling comfortable going through with?

Eddie was guilty of being hot-headed sometimes, but he’d always assumed Richie knew it was only ever surface-level. That they had the repertoire to bicker back-and-forth. That it was all in good fun.

It didn't feel so much like that when Richie behaved like this, made Eddie question if he’d ever read it right in the first place. If that was the case, it was no wonder Richie had been distancing himself. Did Richie even want to be here? Was his return only out of a sense of obligation? Of pity?

It didn’t bear thinking about.

"Anyway, he told me the night was pretty much over after we left," continued Richie when Eddie remained quiet, beating around the bush to try and alleviate the blame.

"I can't imagine why," said Eddie, finding himself suddenly unhungry. He set down his sandwich on top of the clingfilm. "Who knew your friend having an emotional breakdown was a mood killer?"

"It wasn’t like that," Richie tried, even though it was exactly like that. "We’ve all had our moments, man. Like that time Stan drank that whole bottle of wine. Remember that? What a rollercoaster that was. I didn’t even know a human could projectile vomit like that!"

Eddie snickered despite himself. “Oh my God, I forgot about that! Do you remember afterwards? How pissed Bill’s mom was he ruined her carpet? I still can’t believe you took the fall for that.”

“A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do,” replied Richie. “Besides, I had to protect my resident-puker title.”

Despite a wrinkled nose, Eddie continued to laugh.

"Yeah. So, anyway, what I’m tryna’ say is: you need to stop worrying so much, Spaghetti Head!” Richie finished with.

He supposed that he had a point. Eddie had forgotten in his internal fretting that, as Richie had just said, they'd all embarrassed themselves at one point or another. It was easy to be swayed by Richie's reassurance because Eddie trusted him. “Alright… Thanks, Rich.”

“Anytime.” Richie grinned, pushing the last few bites of bread into his mouth. Funny memories were always a good remedy for his friends’ troubles, he’d come to find. Especially the ones involving underage drinking. 

There was another brief lull, but this one was less awkward than before, like they were getting back into the rhythm of how things used to be.

"I'm really glad you ran after me, you know," admitted Eddie before he could think better. He had been planning on keeping it to himself, but they only had a few weeks left together and he was going to regret it if he didn't.

Richie shrugged it off like it was nothing. He liked to think Eddie would have done the same. He replied nonchalantly, "Well, we decided _somebody_ had to do it, and I lost the rock, paper, scissors, so…” He gave a flourish. “Here I am.”

All Eddie could do was hope that his smile didn’t come off as shy as he was feeling. 

“By the way,” continued Richie, “we’re meeting up at Bill’s on Wednesday”

“Oh.” Eddie pulled at his fingers under the table. “I hope you guys have fun.”

“ _Obviously_ you’re coming.”

“I don’t—”

“And it wouldn’t be the same without you,” he interrupted Eddie. Like Mike had said, it wouldn’t be right to leave it as it was, like a bad taste in the mouth. “Bev’s leaving Thursday. Don’t you wanna say goodbye? It’d suck if the last thing she has of you is you freaking out.”

Eddie’s expression soured. “Gee, thanks.”

“You know I didn’t mean it like that,” Richie scrambled.

Crossing his arms tight, Eddie shook his head up at the ceiling, his good mood flipped on its head.

His knee jerk impulse was to run away from the whole situation, reply that he was too busy to be factoring in another get-together on top of his already packed schedule. Deep down, however, Eddie knew that was just an excuse. He didn't want his melodrama to be everyone’s last memory of the Losers’ Club, either. 

He was too much of a coward to admit it though. Once burned, twice shy.

Eddie's watch began to beep and he clicked it off. "My break's over," he announced.

“Dude, come on,” Richie tried. “Don’t be like that. It doesn’t have to be for long.”

“I have Ma to look after.”

“Then we can have it at your place!”

Eddie’s silent reply was tired and unimpressed.

“— _or_ some other place!” Richie chuckled nervously, wide palms.

Back on his feet, Eddie cleared up efficiently. He didn’t know what to say.

Richie’s shoulders dropped. "Look. I’ll explain it to them, if you want. Just tell me what you want me to say."

“I already asked you to and you didn’t.” Eddie’s teeth were gritted, irate at Richie changing his mind so flippantly.

“Yeah! But only ‘cause you didn’t tell me what I was supposed to say!”

The mist of Eddie’s guilt solidified into frustration, igniting Eddie's temper. "Richie, just stop! You already pussied out once, you obviously don’t want to!"

“Hey, I never said that. That’s unfair.”

“You pushing this on me is unfair!” snapped Eddie, tying back together the strings of his apron, clipping on his name tag.

“Pushing on you? What does that even mean?!”

"Jesus Christ, for a valedictorian you sure can be fucking braindead." Eddie didn't give Richie a second to get another word in. "It _means_ that I am sick of every day being about my ma's cancer!

“I never even wanted that night to be about it in the first place—but guess what—thanks to Bill and Stan and _you_ it just ended up being about it anyways! And now you and Mike have got this great idea to rerun that shitshow just so that I can make my fucked up announcement? No, sorry, that _you're_ gonna do it for me instead? Yeah, what a great start to the night that'll be. Like you’re known for your fucking sensitivity and tact.

" _Hey, guys! So, Mrs. K's got stomach cancer and Eddie's stuck in this shitty town until he's putting her casket in the ground whilst everyone else forgets about him, but it's all fine, because we’re doing shots!_ And this whole stupid mess isn't even my fault! I was happy just being there but all of you just wouldn't fucking drop it! Can you blame me for not wanting to relive that?!"

Eddie's face was pink from then exertion, hands, then done with their wild gesturing, dropping like lead by his sides.

Richie was speechless, which was a lot coming from a Trashmouth.

This wasn’t a usual _Kaspbrak Rant_. There was nothing funny about it, nothing for Richie to pick apart and tease, nothing about Eddie’s expression to coo or pinch at. In fact, he was a little hurt by it’s viciousness. This was all new to him. He hadn’t intended to cause upset or outrage.

Like he had said, Richie wasn’t exactly known for his tact.

"Eddie, I didn't—"

"Fuck!" cried Eddie, panting.

Richie flinched. There was a temptation to yell back, give his side, but there was also some kind of invisible force stopping him. It didn’t feel right to. Things weren’t the same. Eddie’s mom was _dying_.

“Eddie,” he repeated, unusually monotone, chair scraping behind him as he stood. “I didn’t want our last meet up to be like that either, but it was. I’m sorry we care enough about you to want to make sure you’re okay. Our mistake.”

“Bullshit,” said Eddie. “People who care about you don’t abandon you all fucking summer!”

“For fuck’s—will you just drop that?” Richie hated the subject, wanted it as far away as possible.

“You brought it up!” accused Eddie. "I just wanted half an hour of things being normal and you couldn't even manage that!”

“I just wanted to help!” shouted back Richie, raising his voice at long last. 

“I never asked for your stupid help!” Eddie knew he was being unfair as he said it, but he was just in too much pain to contain it, the words pouring out of him before he could stop them.

Heartbreak had nothing on the pain that flashed hot through Richie’s entire body. He deflated, feeling every bit of the braindead fool Eddie had named him to be. Of course Eddie could manage everything on his own. Of course Richie wasn’t allowed to be there after everything he’d done.

“Okay,” he said, trying to suppress overreaction. “Fine.”

Eddie stilled mid-fury, Richie’s submission causing his fire to extinguish. He hadn't intended to be so cutting. It was no wonder Richie had been so anxious of him earlier when he pulled shit like this.

He had been expecting Richie to continue to match his tone, wanted it, _needed_ it even. He never got the chance to argue like this with anyone else. There was too much misery trapped inside him and Richie had always been his one and only true outlet to express his most unguarded emotions.

“I’m sorry, man,” continued Richie without further input. “I think I should go.”

Eddie’s regret bled faster but he remained motionless. He was too sick to the stomach, lost to how similar the moment felt to the dynamic between Eddie and his mother the entirety of his childhood: Sonia would yell, Eddie would apologise, Sonia would pretend nothing had ever happened and enjoy the rewards of getting her own way.

He was paralysed as Richie walked past him, paralysed as the store’s bells jingled, the door slammed.

It had been _his_ cue to run after Richie. His turn to tell him that he had nothing to be sorry for, that Eddie was the one who should be sorry, that Eddie was just scared and he shouldn't have taken that out on the person who was trying to be there for him.

Richie deserved that. If anything, Eddie should be thankful.

He closed his eyes and sighed. He could still feel the hurt in Richie's eyes and it made his whole body ache. Too late. He'd frozen up and it was too late; he couldn't even run after Richie if he wanted to. His boss was going to be back any minute and Eddie should have already set up out front.

Eddie numbed himself to it all and picked up the cash register sleeve, returning to his station behind the counter to set up for the afternoon.

Mr. Pierce returned soon after and he pretended everything was fine. He was good at that.

The afternoon picked up, but not majorly, and most of the time Eddie was left with his thoughts. He fretted over Sonia’s hospital appointment on Saturday, over having to get her upstairs that evening for her bath, over Richie Tozier.


	9. Chapter 7: Bonus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Illustration II

**Author's Note:**

> Soph's [tumblr](https://sarcasticscribbles.tumblr.com/) & [instagram](https://www.instagram.com/sarcasticscribbles/)
> 
> Aiya's [tumblr](https://richie-tozier-is-my-eboy.tumblr.com/)


End file.
